


I See You

by Rehfan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - Ian Fleming
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Tragedy, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, French Kissing, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Kissing, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Minor Character Death, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Pre-Skyfall, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy, Teacher-Student Relationship, Voyeurism, simultaneous masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond is working an op in a small elite college just outside of Boston teaching astronomy.</p><p>Q is his student with a minor crush and a major thing for voyeurism that is going to land him in a lot of trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“His name is Declan Bennett,” said M as she slapped down the file in front of Bond. He picked it up and perused it as she spoke. “He was an outspoken activist for the IRA back in the Seventies, a suspect in no less than three car bombings, and is now teaching chemistry (of all things) at a small college on the outskirts of Boston, Massachusetts. You’re to pose as an astronomy professor at the college, gain his trust. We need him. He has something we want.”

A fierce-eyed, sixty-ish, graying ginger-haired man with a goatee to match stared out at Bond from the portfolio. “And the Americans can’t handle this?” asked Bond.

M gave him a sharp look. “The Americans are the ones who supplied us with this information. They see this as our problem to clean up.”

“What happened?” asked Bond. “Did someone nick his chemistry set and he went on a strop to America?”

“He’s one of the greatest minds in chemical warfare, 007,” said M. “And he was in our charge and behaving himself - until recently. The Americans want no part of it. They just want a suspected IRA terrorist out of their country.”

“And we haven’t had eyes on him?” asked Bond. “We lost this man until now?”

“He’s a clever fellow,” said M with a somber tone. It was one she reserved for those moments when she knew she or her precious department got something well cocked up. “He’s managed to elude us for two years so far. We’ve traced him this far and,” here she paused to glare at him fiercely, “we know something the Americans don’t: he is in possession of a formula for a new nerve agent.”

“But he’s a professor at a college?” asked Bond, re-inspecting the file. “Shouldn’t he be on the lam and holed up somewhere in the Mojave or outer Mongolia?”

“You know the value of hiding in plain sight, 007,” said M. “And Boston is filled with Irish IRA sympathizers just looking for a Moses to follow. There he could disappear entirely. We need him and the formula brought in; if not him, then definitely the formula - at all costs. We also need to know who he’s selling to, who is bidding on the formula. So far as we know, he hasn’t sold it, but that could change and soon.”

Bond gave her an appraising glance. She took a nervous sip from a glass of water on her desk. “We’re not the only ones hunting for him, are we?” he asked carefully.

“No,” said M. “But we are the ones who are going to get to him first. Report to Q Branch for your new background and assignment paraphernalia; you were expected there ten minutes ago.”

 

~080~

 

“Jack,” said Bond as he held his hand out. The airport was crowded, but none took any notice as the two men shook hands at the arrivals gate.

“James,” said Jack Wade, taking the proffered hand and giving it a hard shake. “Hate to see you here on such circumstances, but your boy is not welcome on American soil and we want him gone.”

“I appreciate the CIA’s help so far,” said Bond diplomatically. He had worked with Jack in the past and was comfortable around him, if not a tad wary. The CIA was nothing to take lightly and Jack had proved himself more than capable of manipulation as well as capitulation through the years. America had its agendas and Jack was firmly in Uncle Sam’s corner – even if it meant ruining a MI6 mission. But this was different; the two countries had the same idea: get Bennett out and locked down. The only difference of course was that the CIA could never know about the nerve agent. They’d be more than happy to take over the capture of Bennett if it meant extrapolating that kind of information from him and Bond was more than aware of this. “I’ll do all I can to get him where he belongs,” he said.

“Say listen,” said Jack, stopping Bond’s progress through the terminal. “If this boy of yours ran from home, surely he had a reason. You mind telling me what that was? Just so I know it wasn’t something we need to clean up on our end.”

“You’re afraid that the United States has done something to offend the IRA?” asked Bond. Jack nodded. Bond took a deep breath. “What haven’t you done to piss any country or political group off lately?”

“Yeah, I know,” said Jack. “But really… is there anything specific this guy was aiming at?”

“Not as far as we know,” said Bond. “And we’d like to keep it that way too.”

“Good enough for me,” said Jack and gestured to Bond to continue their walk, “Although my spider sense is tingling a bit about you being here, James.”

“Oh?” said James as nonchalantly as he could.

“Yeah,” said Jack, eyeing Bond carefully. “I mean, if it’s a simple extraction of a benign subject, why send in a double-oh? You think he may try to run?”

“You never know,” said James, stepping out onto the concrete and lighting a cigarette. “He could be book smart and common sense stupid. Most of these geniuses are.”

“Uh-huh,” said Jack, his suspicions still firmly in place. They walked to Jack’s car in silence, each man mulling over his position. Bond couldn’t fully disclose to Jack what was going on, even though they’d been friendly for years. There was no such thing as CIA-MI6 full disclosure, no matter the trust built between the two of them over time. Jack was in his camp, Bond in his, and neither country could fully commit to the other. The things that Bond could trust were the facts that the CIA would keep tabs on him when he was in-country and that they always had the best toys.

Jack popped the boot of the car open. To anyone who passed, it would look as if Bond were simply storing his luggage. Bond deposited his bag into the space and inspected the metal case that was sitting there waiting. Jack reached in and popped the lid of the briefcase. Cushioned inside were two weapons and the corresponding ammunition. “I knew you preferred the Walthers. I got you the p99 as well as its little brother.” Ever since 9/11 it was a bitch to get personal firearms into the US. MI6 had provided him with a few supplies, but for weaponry Bond had decided to call in a favor from Jack. After all, the CIA was supposed to be cooperative on this op.

“Thanks,” said Bond with a grin closing the lid. “Have you arranged transport for me to my rooms? Or are you chauffeuring me there?”

Jack cocked a grin at James, but his eyes kept scanning the parking lot as he slammed the boot lid closed. “While I would never deign to soil my hands acting like the help for MI6… for you, I can make an exception. Hop in.”

 

~080~

 

The college was tiny. It only carried twelve-hundred students on its rosters, all of whom had some kind of privileged background, mommies and daddies who could afford the exorbitant fees that the private college charged. The buildings were Colonial-style but modern and well-maintained with card keys used for entering and leaving all the buildings. That was good; all the easier to track Bennett’s movements around campus. The only exception was the campus student center building which contained the mail room, campus bookstore, coffee shop, and cafeteria. It was far too busy a center for key cards to be practical. Bond noted with interest as he passed that it did seem to have a surveillance system.

Jack had told him: “Some of these kids have parents who are diplomats and politicians. They wanted a special school for their youngsters, but they also wanted to be able to keep track of their safety. Most of them have learning disorders.”

“What?” Bond had asked, confused.

“What do you mean?” Jack had responded. “Rich kids can’t have dyslexia? Don’t worry. You won’t be here long enough to screw them up.”

Dappled sunlight streamed through the autumn trees as Bond wound his way through the gently sloping campus passing groundskeepers busy trimming the grass and shrubbery that surrounded the Colonial architecture until he reached the three-storey brick building with a white-painted wooden entrance clearly marked: Teacher’s Offices. All the teacher’s offices were contained therein for every subject taught on campus, and Jack had described the Dean of the Science Department, Cosima Glaros, as “a nice lady, if a bit straight-laced”. Clearly the CIA wanted to give Bond any leg up they could to go so far as to describe what his fake boss was like in temperament.

As for Dean Glaros, she was as it said on the tin: the wife of a dentist with three strapping great Greek sons, she taught biology at the college. She was happy to meet Professor Bond and showed him to his offices in the basement of the building. It was a glorified cupboard with built-in bookshelves against every conceivable vertical surface and a naff desk with chair pushed to one corner, but Bond didn’t mind. They spent a few minutes discussing his duties to her, including department meetings on the first and fourth Wednesday of every month, and the fact that he was expected to have office hours available for his students at least twice a week for a minimum of four hours per day. He was assigned classes for twice a week and was encouraged to really engage his students.

By the time the orientation was finished, Bond explored the building. He wasn’t bothered that he would need to make his office seem, well, like an office. He knew that between the CIA and MI6, he would have all sorts of astronomical books and charts in that cupboard by end of day tomorrow.

He was alone on the basement level. He took his time to map out that area first before moving slowly around the building, memorizing where his office was in relation to all exits and what professors had what office spaces. He especially wanted to find Bennett’s office.

There weren’t too many of his colleagues about on that day; it was a week too early in the school year for most to show and so most of the office doors were locked. These were secured not with the up-to-date high-tech swipe card key system, but with a standard key and lock. Bond was never more grateful for college presidents who felt the capitalist urge to impress paying parents and donating alumni with tech on dorm rooms and classrooms, instead of providing upgrades for the people who actually worked there.

He wanted to know how Bennett stood among his colleagues, what they thought of him. He also wanted to know what they were like. He had no idea what he was walking into and the more prepared he could become, the better. He didn’t want to go to his first department meeting and not know a single thing about anyone. He could just have made a call to Jack or TSS at MI6 and have pictures and profiles ready for him with his morning coffee, but what the hell… he was bored.

As he moved through the building, dodging Dean Glaros’s office and trying the next door along, he tried to figure out what the ranking of the teachers were from the titles on their office doors, but he was stymied; this was nothing like uni in England. First off, Bond was called “professor” by Dean Glaros from the get-go. That was never done in the UK. One had to earn that title through tenure and diligence in that chosen field of academia. Anyone coming in like him would have automatically been referred to as a lecturer: the lowest man on the totem.

At this school, there was no such apparent ranking. There was a dean of the department who was in charge of all the other teachers within her subject, but as for ranking of the teachers, Bond could make no heads or tails of it. He would assume that to a certain degree, tenure would come into play, but there was no difference in title to tell who had spent more time at the college – or indeed in their area of study – than the next person. After a period of two years being here, Bennett could be up for dean next year, at this rate. It was a higgledy-piggledy way of doing things, but it was a small college rather than a university. Things had to be different at a uni in the States. As it was, the best Bond could hope to do was to judge who had been there the longest by the state of their décor.

He would have to play it all by ear. He hated that. Better to call TSS.

As he turned from the final door, it had hit him: Bennett’s office wasn’t here.

 

~080~

 

“Hello,” said Q as he watched the playback of the broad-shouldered blond man enter the teacher’s offices building. “Who are you then?”

“What are you muttering about?” asked Lita.

“Hmm?” he answered distractedly.

“Who’s that?” she said over his shoulder, her shocking black and blue-tipped hair brushing his ear.

“No idea,” said Q. “Would love to find out.”

“Mmm,” said Lita, eyeing Q playfully. “I bet you would.”

“Shut it, L,” said Q but he never took his eyes off the screen.

“Run his plate,” she offered.

“Already did,” said Q. “Hired car.”

“A rental?” said Lita. She huffed in annoyance. “A parental unit then. Oh well… he was hot.”

“A bit too hot,” said Q. “No… I think Professor Kennedy’s retirement was fortuitous. This may be his replacement.”

“What?” asked Lita. She watched the playback loop of the stranger over and over for a few seconds.  “Please dear God, let him teach Political Science,” she whispered.

“You don’t believe in God,” said Q.

“But I do believe in a fine ass,” said Lita. “And that man’s got one. Look at it, Q… just glory in that man’s finely-turned ass!”

Q smirked and shook his head. Lita wasn’t wrong. Still, there was something not-quite-right about this newcomer and Q was fully prepared to keep tabs on him. But before he could he had to deal with Lita who had now taken to voicing lascivious moaning and grunting. “Do you mind?” he asked.

“Oh I wouldn’t mind him at all,” she said.

Q pushed at her gently, elbowing her to move away. She did so begrudgingly. She glanced at the clock. “Ooh!” she exclaimed. “It’s Wednesday and almost time for the “Guard’s Sugar Shack Show”! Change the camera, Q. Let’s see who Murray was able to pay for today.”

“End of his cash,” said Q. “A day shy of payday. My bet’s on a hand job. He can’t afford much more.”

“Oh yeah,” said Lita. She was disappointed. The guardhouse that was positioned at the campus back gate in front of its most distant car park was only truly functional once school had commenced, and that was a week away. Nevertheless, campus security had placed a man there during daylight hours for the past six weeks. For Murray the guard, it was a lonely job but he had managed to purchase himself prostitutes every Wednesday to help him through his painful ennui. Every other Wednesday it was like having a grotty view of a back-alley Playboy photoshoot; the guard was flush with cash and could afford relatively good-looking prossies. But on the opposing Wednesdays, it was never anything spectacular or titillating: local talent mostly.

Q’s hidden campus cameras were up and running for a month before there was any major activity on the campus that year; he had noticed Murray’s love encounters inside of ten days. At the time, Q shrugged over it; it was a distraction. And until classes started for the year, the cams and what they could pick up, plus the odd hack, would be his only form of entertainment.

He always got in two months early. His parents were too distracted with their own lives to worry about when his classes actually began and Q was too bored in England to stay. That and they really didn’t give a shit about him, other than reminding him about what an embarrassment he was to them. He couldn’t wait for his twenty-fifth birthday when he would be able to tap into his trust fund and disappear for good. As it was, he had this last year to go before heading off to MIT and his future in coding artificial intelligence. But for now, between this gilded cage of a school and the present moment, Q had to fill his time somehow.

When he had set the cams up originally two years ago, he found that tapping into the existing campus security cams to hide his own monitoring system was a breeze; not even a fucking firewall. Plus, he found he could use the campus cams just as well as his own, except they didn’t have zoom lenses or multi-directional views. Q was very proud of those little cams. He bought the components and modified them himself. Most were black and you couldn’t tell where they were because of their placement, but some were camouflaged to blend with the bark of trees and the green of leaves; these were the ones on the wooded paths that made serpentine trails across campus leading from dorms to the other college facilities. Q even had cams that covered every square inch of the local town of Marley. That was a project that took a lot of midnight raids and help from resident friend Lita and her local friends, but in the end, he had a sweeping view of Marley. What few traffic cams the town had also fell under his control within an hour of set-up.

Lita would tease him about being a sexual voyeur, thinking Q was hoping to catch his maths teacher in bed with the English tutor, but it really wasn’t about that. Q liked to be in control. He liked to know what was going on. He liked to have a handle on things. And if monitoring every square inch of a town and college that contained professors who held the future of his life in their hands was wrong, Q didn’t want to be right.

And it’s not as if the sex bothered him. He didn’t really care about student-student relations, even though he’d seen a few things last year that opened his eyes about the golden-boy quarterback and the guy who played the school mascot at all the games. Lita particularly enjoyed the moment when golden-boy’s girlfriend’s class was cancelled and she returned to his room to find them in flagrante delicto. That was particularly memorable.

But there was something about peering into people’s lives that made it so very naughty and yet completely addictive; Q was sure there were psychological studies about it to beat the band, but he really didn’t care. All he knew was when he sat before his four monitors at his homemade computer in his apartment on the edge of campus, he was a king in his castle. His purpose was not nefarious or kinky; he was simply hedging his bets on getting transferred to MIT once this year was over. And that’s all the justification he needed to do what he was doing. If it took a little digital blackmail to keep his life on track, no one was going to prevent him from living the life he wanted for himself. He had been living the life his parents chose for him since he was born. He was done.

Lita brought him a bowl of popcorn and they both sat back and watched Murray’s head tilt back while the local prossie (a brunette this time) went down on him in the guard shack. “Ooh,” said Lita. “He must have held a little extra back from last week. He’s learning.” Their angle was such that they could see them both in profile with the shack door slid open. If it had been closed, they would have only been able to see Murray’s reaction. Lita always thought to see it all was the better way. Q disagreed. He liked the tease of only seeing part of the story.

Q was getting bored with Murray and the brunette. Lita was critiquing her the same way someone would talk to the television or the movie screen. “Work the head more, you idiot,” she said softly. “That’s it… he liked that, see?”

“And you call me the voyeur,” said Q smiling slyly.

“Oh shut up,” said Lita. “You were thinking the same.”

“Wonder where the new boy is shacking up?” said Q as he watched the girl awkwardly deep-throat Murray only to choke and pull off too quickly.

“Bad breathing technique coupled with a gag reflex,” said Lita shaking her head. “Sorry, Murray my man.” She nibbled another kernel of popcorn before asking: “New boy?”

“The new teacher… parental… whatever he is,” said Q.

“Oh… blond with broad shoulders, right,” said Lita. “Are we developing a crush?”

In spite of himself, Q could feel the color rise in his face. “He does have a nice arse,” he reasoned.

“All the more reason to watch him,” said Lita. “Too bad we’ve got no way of doing that.”

Q grinned and heaved a sigh. At least with New Boy around watching Murray for entertainment could be put on the back burner. Thank God.


	2. Chapter 2

A week after spotting New Boy, Q stood in the kitchen of the off-campus flat he shared with Lita and cursed aloud. He was holding his class assignments in his hand. The look on his face could never be mistaken for anything but disgust.

“What’s up?” asked Lita over her cereal bowl.

“I’m in Organic Chemistry with Bennett,” said Q. “I wanted Flavin.” He sat heavily in the chair opposite Lita.

“Flavin is much easier,” Lita agreed. She shoveled in another mouthful and munching loudly managed: “So… transfer out.”

“I’ll go talk to Lissie,” said Q resignedly. Lissie Robinson worked in the Fine Arts department teaching sculpture, but was also his advisor for all his classes. She was a wonderful artist, many of her works were on display in local Boston galleries, but her organizational skills were practically non-existent. Gold Hill had on-line enrollment, but Q’s parents had a deal with the registration office that Q was not allowed to register in that manner. He had to do everything through Lissie. It rankled Q that nothing could ever be his way in this place. He couldn’t wait to get out from under his parents’ thumb.

It would have been simple enough to just hack registration, but too many things at Gold Hill College were done on hardcopy. When he wasn’t in Bennett’s class and was found to be double-registered, he would be brought to the dean and then the president faster than you can say “jail time”. It wasn’t worth it.

“If you can,” said Lita, swallowing another mouthful, “tell her that I can be down to negotiate with her tomorrow. First day of being TA for Gallman and I’m already overrun with his demands.”

“Hmm?” said Q. He was still focused on his paper. “Oh. Yeah… I’ll do that.” He rose from the kitchen chair lost in thought, stopped, and turned to her, realizing what she had just asked him. “You’re modeling again this year? I thought you said you’d had enough.”

“Yeah, well,” said Lita a bit guiltily. “I had to buy some clothes for interviews this year, didn’t I?” Q watched her carefully awaiting her full confession. He knew her too well. “And… then there was this leather jacket I saw.” He tapped the paper in his hands and kept his silence as he stared her down over the rim of his glasses. “And the shoes…” She cringed under his gaze.

“How much?” he asked her.

“Four?” she said tightly.

“Four pairs of shoes?” he asked her. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“No… sixteen actual pairs…” said Lita.

Q stared at her, mouth agape. “So? How much for everything in total? In dollars?”

“Twelve?” she said.

“Twelve hundred?” said Q. He paused, mentally calculating. “Considering your last shopping spree was about seven thousand, that’s not too bad.”

Lita seemed to shrink in her chair. “Twelve thousand,” she said.

“Lita!” said Q. She hung her head, shoved the bowl aside and placed her forehead on the table, banging it gently over and over. He stepped to her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. The banging stopped. “I don’t think modeling for a sculpture class is going to help much, but it’s going to have to do, isn’t it?”

She brought her head up. “I’m also doing it for the sketch class and the three painting classes,” she said hopefully. “So it’ll be better money.” She looked up at him through blue-tipped fringe and smiled.

“You’re lucky you’re fit and adorable,” he said kissing her forehead. “I’ll be back. See that?” He pointed to the dormant computer terminal across the flat. “Don’t touch.”

Lita shrugged. “I don’t know your password,” she said and added: “Besides, ever since this week began, Murray’s been minding his P’s and Q’s too damn much. There’s no action there.”

“You’re right,” said Q. “Tonight we’ll see what all the frosh get up to.”

Lita smiled at the thought of spying on all the little Freshman newbies that had arrived at the college that week. Freshman orientation had technically begun yesterday, but the first day was usually just parties and drunkenness. Night two is when they really got rocking. “Much more entertaining,” she agreed. “I’ll order Chinese.”

“Provided you can still afford it,” said Q.

 

~080~

 

Lissie’s office was on the third floor across the corridor from the Dean of Sciences but the building was so old that there was no lift. Q rounded the corner at the top of the stair on the third floor landing and collided straight into a solid wall of muscle. He wasn’t sure, but Q thought he audibly gasped once he’d realized who he had bumped into. “Sorry,” he stuttered at Bond. “Sorry. My fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“It’s fine,” said Bond. “I wasn’t looking either. Wait. You’re British.”

“Y-yes,” said Q, still a bit stunned. “And so are you.”

“London?” asked Bond.

Q nodded. “Hampstead Heath,” he replied, his heart skipping a beat at the blue eyes and blond hair.

“Pimlico,” Bond offered with a charming smirk.

Q took a quick second to take in the man fully. He was only about an inch difference in height from Q. His military bearing was apparent even through the heavy black jumper he wore. It set his blue eyes ablaze and Q had to catch his breath before he realized that New Boy had spoken to him again. “Sorry?” he asked.

“I asked you your name,” said Bond.

“Oh,” said Q. He stuck his hand out awkwardly. “Geoffrey Boothroyd.” He watched as if in slow motion as New Boy took his hand; the golden skin and bulk of it seemed to envelop his own. The warmth of it was delicious and made Q’s cock twitch in a most humiliating way.

“Boothroyd?” asked Bond.

“I know,” said Q, only able to respond through heavy concentration. He glanced up into curious eyes for only a second. “It’s awful. Please call me Q. All my mates do.”

“Right then, Q,” said Bond, another smile playing on his lips as he shook Q’s hand; it was cool and fragile in his own and the skin was soft. Bond couldn’t help but notice Q’s green eyes had blown wide at his touch. Bond licked his lips.

Sneaking another peek so as not to seem rude, Q had the sudden desire to know what those lips tasted like, but first thing was first. “And you are?”

“Bond. James Bond. That is, Professor James Bond,” he amended and released Q’s hand. It almost hurt his heart to do so. “Aren’t you a bit old to be a Freshman?”

Q forced himself to make clear eye contact. This shy business was nonsense. He was a grown man after all. “I’m a Senior,” he replied. “I’m going to embark on my post-grad work at MIT next year. I live just off campus with a… well… it doesn’t matter. I- uh…” Gracelessly, Q let his conversation trail off. He had begun so well, but now he wanted to crawl beneath the lino in embarrassment.

“Well,” said Bond looking Q up and down unashamedly causing Q to blush even more than before. “A clever boy then, aren’t you?” Q blushed and smiled. There was an awkward silence as each man searched for the next thing to say. Bond found words first: “You were here for a purpose. I shouldn’t keep you.”

“Oh,” said Q. “Yes. Well then.” Q was waffling and he knew it. He said: “I shouldn’t keep you then either, should I professor? So nice to have met you.”

“And you,” said James.

As James passed him up to head down the stairs Q called after him: “I’ll try to watch where I’m going next time.”

“Oh do,” said James from the landing. “But as encounters go, you’ve been the most pleasant one so far, Q. Nice to have a bit of home about.” He gave Q a grin and was gone.

Q grabbed the banister for balance and took a breath. He could have kicked himself for his clumsy social skills. He hadn’t formally dated much in his entire life and he was being painfully reminded right now as to why. This is exactly why he wanted to work with artificial intelligence: it required little-to-no people skills. Interaction with actual humans was awful. Interaction with incredibly beautiful and charming humans with amazing eyes and gorgeous smiles and lips you wanted to taste and a jumper you wanted to crawl inside of and skin you wanted to warm yourself against was downright hellish. Fuck his life.

 

~080~

 

“Well?” said Lita. “How did it go?”

“I met New Boy,” said Q. His thoughts had been consumed with Bond since he had first seen him on campus and now that he knew what the man was like in real life, Q knew he had to see him again. He had noticed as he walked across campus and back to his flat that some of Bond’s cologne had rubbed off on his coat when they collided. Q had been idly sniffing at it since he discovered it. He took off the coat now that he was home and laid it carefully over his computer chair back hoping to preserve the scent.

“Oh?” said Lita. She sat up from where she reclined on the sofa and made room for him, patting her hand on the cushion next to her. “Tell Auntie L all about it, Q-baby.” Q told her every detail he could remember of his encounter with Professor James Bond. When he finished she asked: “Did you find out what he teaches?”

Q groaned and flung his head back against the sofa. “No! Too fucking flustered. Fuck!”

“Ah well,” said Lita. “Did you at least get out of Bennett’s class?”

 “I got placed on a wait list for Flavin’s class; it was already at capacity,” he said.

“Well shit,” said Lita. “Nightmare, then. You have to go to Bennett’s until you can get into Flavin’s. Hopefully someone will be stupid enough to transfer and you’ll get in right away.”

“Unless,” said Q. “I can get in another science course.”

“There’s a thought,” said Lita. “But what other science could you get into that’s as many credits?”

Q went to their work bookshelf and plucked up his catalog. “Cosmology,” he said. “The study of the evolution of the solar system and the universe beyond.”

“Sounds either boring or brilliant,” said Lita. “Who teaches that?”

“Kennedy used to,” said Q. “But he’s retired now. Brosky might have taken it over. He’s cool.”

“Zane Brosky,” said Lita. “Now there’s a name to shout out in a passionate moment in bed.” She laughed and Q couldn’t help but laugh with her.

Later that evening Lita drifted off to sleep in front of the monitors that showed four different Freshman parties on campus. Two of them were drunk-fests and fights. One was boring as shit. And the other was slowly turning into an orgy. Lita had made Q zoom in on the orgy when she was still awake. While watching horny teenagers get it on in a completely irresponsible “I’m never going to remember this tomorrow so what the hell” kind of way, Q saw two of the more shy boys leave the boring party. Out of curiosity and boredom, Q trailed them on his camera that was angled through the corridor window and watched them as one of them pressed the other to the wall. They both looked so young and scared and Q watched in fascination as they slowly came together for what was probably the first gay kiss either had ever exchanged. Q’s first kiss would always be tinged with a mixture of bittersweet lust and regret and those feelings came back tenfold as he saw their kiss deepen and hands begin to explore. As soon as he saw one boy go for the other’s crotch, Q knew that it was a make or break moment. And then the moment broke; the boy against the wall flinched as he felt the other’s hand probe over his jeans and he pushed him off. They both stood there, clearly embarrassed, and Q’s heart went out to them. It wasn’t easy no matter your gender or sexual persuasion and if your parents were the oppressive, rich, sheltering, and hyper-protective type, it was a million times worse.

Q glanced at Lita who was curled up in her over-stuffed chair, dead to the world. She’d never notice if he got rid of one of the screens. Abandoning the young lovers to their fates, he called up Bond’s footage again and looked the man over. Q reached behind him and pulled his coat to his face. The scent was faint but still present and Q felt heat build in his groin at the thought of the man. He would definitely have to find out where Bond was staying and get a camera or two on his place. Or in his place. He stopped himself at the thought of the unnecessary invasion of privacy but soon reasoned that he was watching everyone else, why not Bond too?

But all that could wait. Right now his cock was telling him that he had more important things to take care of. He left Lita’s side as quietly as he could, leaving only the camera of the orgy party on for her in case she woke, and stole off to his room.

He lay back on his bed and stroked himself over his jeans. He had brought the coat with him and once again held it to his face, seeking out the scent of James. God in heaven, beautiful James. Strong James. Charming James. He gripped his balls and squeezed gently feeling his cock slowly fill. Blue eyes and blond hair cropped short at the nape so that he knew that, if he had dared, it would have felt blissfully soft. He imagined warm lips and hard body, golden skin and deep voice: ingredients that made his cock beg for mercy.

He stood and walked to his full-length mirror. The bedside table lamp as his only light, he slowly watched himself unbutton his jeans; belt, button, zipper, each came apart in a slow erotic show for himself. He imagined this as James’ view of him and felt his body react with a thrum that radiated to every appendage. His trousers tented out as he lowered his jeans and he stroked a hand up his chest under his shirt. “Is this what you want, James?” he asked his reflection. His voice was no more than a whisper, but in his mind’s eye James nodded yes, that laser-point focused gaze like a palpable touch.

He took one finger and stroked his length, teasing himself, teasing Bond. The tip was wet already and he played with the cloth against the collecting precum, sliding across the slit and causing the most delicious heat to spread inside him. He bit his lip as the fingers of his other hand found his nipple. He let out a stuttering breath as he imagined James sitting on the edge of his bed behind him and watching his reflection in the mirror along with him.

“This is all your fault, professor,” said Q teasingly. “I’m this fucking hard because of you.” He set his fingertips to stroking up and down his length on top of his pants. He grabbed his cock at the base and wiggled it outward, making it jump up and down. “Do you want to teach me something, professor?” Again he saw fantasy James nod and walk over to him, standing behind him. Q allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and feel hot breath against his neck and a warm gruff hand grip him instead of his own. He groaned at the thought and pulled his throbbing cock from his pants.

He took himself in hand and rocked his pelvis, fucking his fist as his thumb spread precum along his shaft with every stroke. He pulled the foreskin forward, circled a fingertip just inside it, brushing the head, and released it back down, enjoying the feel of the self-fuck that wasn’t quite a self-fuck. He cracked an eye open to watch his lower half thrust over and over and over and pictured strong legs behind his own, a muscular forearm and hand guiding his dick instead of his own and when he finally imagined Bond telling him: “Cum for me, Q,” it was only seconds later that he lost complete control and began to speed his stroke. He came with a muffled cry and felt warm cum over his hand and his hips spasm.

He stood there panting as he watched himself recover in the mirror. It was then that he realized Lita was probably right: he did like to watch. A smile bloomed on his face at the acceptance of it.

He stripped himself quickly, cleaning himself with his pants, before throwing all his laundry in the basket. He put on a pair of pyjama bottoms and crawled in bed. His coat was still there and as he switched off the light and made himself comfortable, he pressed the lapel to his face and fell asleep to the scent of James Bond.

 

~080~

 

His first week on campus was rather unproductive. Bond managed to get his office in order in under a day, but by day three he could tell that this mission wasn’t going to be an easy in-and-out. Bennett’s office was actually in the science building which was across the grassy quadrangle from the Teacher’s Offices building. He shared this office with Professor Stanley Flavin, a spry octogenarian who had made teaching science his life. He was published twelve times over and had even written the latest text for his chemistry 101 class. Ordinarily Bond would have found him unremarkable, but when he had gone to pry into Bennett’s office and found Flavin there instead, Bond found himself on the receiving end of all manner of old stories of the college when Flavin had began his career more than forty years before and every professor that had come and gone since.

The good news about having a chatty person around such as Stanley Flavin was that one could get a lot of information from such a fellow - including gossip. Professor Flavin was all too happy to tell James (can I call you James?) about the terrific rows that Glaros and Kennedy used to get into before his retirement. (He shared this office with me before Bennett, you know. Good man too. Kennedy, not Bennett.)

“Bennett isn’t a good man,” Bond had asked. “Glaros seems to like him.”

Flavin’s huff of derision spoke volumes about his attitude regarding both Bennett and Glaros as professors and people. Bond got the hint that Kennedy was a friend and that his retirement was a blow to the old man. “Well then,” Bond had said. “God knows what you think of me then.”

“Oh,” Flavin had said. “One look at you and I could see that you’re my sort of man. Although…”

“Yes?” Bond had asked.

“You don’t seem like a scientist or a teacher really,” Flavin had said. “But you do have an air of authority about you. That always helps. These students need discipline. Too soft at home. Too many video games to distract them. But I’ll tell you what: you blow something up the first day of class – controlled conditions of course – and you’ve got ‘em in the palm of your hand! It never fails!”

The next day brought other complications. Glaros came to him desperate. “I hope you can teach Cosmology,” she had said as she stepped into his office and started pacing.

Bond had almost stupidly responded that he knew nothing about the application of make-up other than for military camouflage, but was gratified when she kept talking: “Professor Brosky was going to teach it when Kennedy left but his wife’s going to have another baby and he wants to cut one of his classes down to be with her. We need someone to teach about the evolution of the solar system and you’re my best bet. So I’m assigning you his course.”

“Um, OK,” he had said stupidly. As the door closed behind her, he knew he was totally out of his depth, so the past four days had been all about the solar system and its development since the dawn of time and beyond as well as trying to keep tabs on when Bennett was arriving on campus. All indications said that he wasn’t there and the longer his absence, the more twitchy Bond was becoming. By the time his first week at the school was up, Bond knew that he had never been so frustrated and mentally exhausted in his whole life.

The only bright spot in the whole week happened just that day when he was leaving Glaros’ office with Brosky’s syllabus in his hands. Bumping into Q was a welcome surprise and the memory of the boy clung to Bond like a soothing balm. That same evening, he sat smoking in the tub and thought of the wild hair that looked perfect for petting, the green eyes that were so shy and awkward, and the small frame that was probably disgustingly flexible. Steam rose all about him and mixed with the smoke from his cigarette. Bond grinned at the thought of all the things he could do to Geoffrey Boothroyd. He didn’t want to think about planets and star systems, constellations or comets; he only wanted to forget himself and the entire world in the arms of that boy.

He gave in. Reaching down to squash his cigarette in the ashtray he had brought in with him, he began to stroke himself under the water. The tub was an old-style claw-footed type and he was very grateful to the CIA for securing him a very nice house along a quiet street in Marley that was so elegantly appointed. Bond peeked out the bay window that was right next to the tub, grateful that it only faced open land and one streetlight. Hell, even if it didn’t, no one could really see what he was up to anyway.

Not that it mattered. Bond had no problem with his body. It served its purpose and he was happy when it came out of a mission unscathed. But now, he reveled in the thought of Q in the tub with him watching him stroke himself to orgasm. Perhaps the boy would help? He would just reach over and cup his balls as he thrust his hips up, water lapping up the sides of the tub. Or perhaps he would just watch? There was something titillating about that thought and Bond went with it picturing a silent and shy boy with a sweet smile peeking at him as he sat on the sill of the bay window fully clothed but for his bare feet in the water.

Perhaps he would give instruction? Tell Bond just what he wanted him to do to himself. Bond could take orders. He’d been doing it practically his whole life. And it could give that delicate creature a modicum of control over Bond’s much more powerful presence. “Tell me what you want, Q,” Bond thought. The bathroom echoed with the splash of water and Bond’s stuttered breath and grunting.

“Work just the head for a bit, James,” that soft voice said in his head. “That’s it, right around the head and underneath. You do like it best there, don’t you, James?” And he did. After a bit, Q gave him permission to stroke himself fully and Bond would take his command and lock his eyes on him awaiting his next order.

Then Q would lick his lips and command Bond to cum. That sweet face would watch Bond in fascination and with sheer _want_ as he fist-fucked himself to completion - just as he was doing now. The orgasm hit Bond hard and he came in the water with Q’s name on his lips which then melted into a moan.

As Bond caught his breath he realized that keeping his cover intact until Bennett’s extraction wasn’t the only complicated thing he’d have to deal with on this mission; he was going to have to be very careful around a certain matriculating and very distracting student body.


	3. Chapter 3

“Shit! Shit! SHIT!” said Q as he sprinted across campus, his rucksack banging against his hip. Three weeks into the semester and this was no way to begin his new class in Cosmology. Bennett didn’t want to see him transfer out, but Q couldn’t stand the man. His droning voice was enough to put anyone to sleep and the subject matter was barely tolerable. Q began referring to him as Human Novocain. But the man dragged his feet over Q’s transfer for ten days before finally, mercifully signing off.

Q thought him pushy and manipulative and, as a result, didn’t trust him. As it was, Q had to consent to join the Honor Society that Bennett was chair of before he would sign off on his paperwork. It was some type of blackmail, but Q couldn’t figure out Bennett’s angle and so he agreed. The coercion was only part of the man’s repulsive nature and Q was glad to be rid of him.

More than once in his short time in his class the professor had tried to rope him into after-class discussions on the plight of the IRA and where Q stood on the subject. Q had responded diplomatically, extricating himself from the discussion as quickly as possible, but he had little interest in the Irish; truth be told, Q had little interest in discussing anything with Bennett. If the subject had turned religious, debating intelligent design vs. natural selection or discussing the demonization of homosexuality, Q would have had to be sick on the man’s shoes. There was nothing so odious to Q than to bring up controversial subjects where no one was right and everyone was wrong simply for the purpose of one person pushing their agenda upon the other person. It served no good in Q’s mind to press anyone to think what you wanted them to think in order to get them to behave the way they wanted you to behave – or worse – believe what you wanted them to believe. In that way, Bennett reminded Q of his parents.

So it was with great relief that Q took the phone call from Lissie that afternoon telling him to come to her office; the paperwork had finally come through for his transfer. She had just given him his approval chit to hand to his new professor when she bothered to tell him that the class had started ten minutes ago and he should probably run. Of course it didn’t help that the class was being held in the old sciences building on the opposite side of campus a half-mile away.

The building had once been a Catholic school by itself but the school and the adjacent convent building were swallowed up by the college during an expansion in the late sixties. Another brick building, it had three stories and an interior of black-stained wood around the doors and lintels and white plaster walls. Floors were covered in lino so that the sounds of normal walking were magnified tenfold no matter where you trod. Q’s running footfalls were like thunder in the quiet of the corridors and he came to a halt outside the classroom, his breath coming heavy, his heartbeat in his ears. He took a deep breath and tried to regain control before he opened the door slowly so as not to disturb the lecture he could faintly hear beyond the heavy wooden door.

The room was a small auditorium and the door Q came through put him in full view of the class. The professor’s back was to him and Q was too busy looking for a place to sit to notice the instructor walking toward him.

“Q,” a mildly surprised voice said.

Q looked over at the man and nearly wet himself. Professor Bond, he of the broad shoulders and bluest of eyes, was looking directly at him and standing only two feet away. It took Q a moment to compose himself before he remembered the reason he was in the room. “Here,” said Q, handing him the paperwork. “I’m here now,” he added, by way of explanation.

“I can see that,” said Bond, taking the paper from him. He glanced at it and smiled, instantly gesturing with a hand to the classroom. “Take a seat anywhere.”

After a lecture on the properties of the planet Venus, the class ended and everyone was gathering their things. The din was loud but Q heard James call his name. “Yes, sir?” said Q.

“You have a bit to catch up on, Q,” said Bond. The last of his classmates left the room and he and Bond were alone.

“Yes, sir,” said Q. “I’m planning on borrowing the class notes from someone. I’ll be fine.” Q gave him a weak smile. Jesus Christ, he wanted to ride the man’s dick.

“I have no doubt that you’ll be alright,” said Bond, getting up and circling the desk to stand before Q. “You seem like an intelligent fellow. Still, I’d like to offer you some guidance to catch up with where the rest of the class is.”

“Um…,” began Q, uncertain as to where Bond was going with all this, but his new proximity was playing havoc with his thought process. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well,” said Bond. “I made a presentation my first day in class here that I think would be quite helpful for you to see. I can arrange for it to be replicated in a smaller setting. Do you have any time tomorrow? Say an hour or so?”

“I work in the computer lab all day tomorrow,” said Q. His on-campus job was merely a small distraction as well as a good way to pay for all the carbs and caffeine he seemed to subsist on. Bond didn’t look like he lived on pizza or coffee. Q thought he looked like a meat eater. He almost drooled at the errant thought of Bond looking at Q as though he were a piece of meat to be devoured.

“When do you get off?” asked Bond.

“What?” said Q, clearing hearing what he wanted to hear just then.

“What time are you through in the lab?” said Bond, a bit slower as though he were speaking to a dim child.

“Oh, right… five,” Q answered.

“Ah,” said Bond. “Very well. I’ll meet you at five tomorrow. That works out perfectly, actually, as the room I was planning to use is on the top floor of the same building.” He smiled broadly at Q.

“R-right,” said Q, his breath taken away. “I’ll be there.”

“I hope so,” said Bond. He turned from Q and began packing his things into a leather case. He looked up to still see Q staring at him. “Is there something else, Q?”

“Huh? Um… no,” said Q, stammering. He could feel himself blushing fiercely. “Just… thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Q,” said Bond. “I do want all my students to do well. I only hope I can help. Shall we?” He gestured to the door.

“Yes,” said Q. He walked out into the corridor and found himself waiting for Bond as he locked the classroom door. He could have kicked himself for his awkwardness, but something about the man brought it out in him. It was stupid to be that nervous around him and Q hated himself for it. He determined to have a decent conversation with the man before he got into his car and drove off.

They walked down the corridor shoulder to shoulder and boldly Q asked: “Why America?”

Bond gave him a curious glance. “Why am I teaching in America and not England?” Q nodded. Bond had an entire backstory created for himself and the pre-prepared MI6-created answer rolled off his tongue: “I fell in love.”

“What?” said Q.

“Boston,” said Bond smoothly. “I came here to study during an exchange program in my youth. Fell in love with the place. I told myself that if I ever got the opportunity to teach in the States, it would be here, simple as that.”

Q nodded. “It is a rather nice section of the country,” said Q. They made small talk about Boston and how similar in climate it could be to England until they had both reached Bond’s car.

“You drive a vintage Aston Martin?” asked Q, looking in astonishment at the right-hand drive silver classic ’64. This was definitely not a hired car. It was also one Q hadn’t seen on any of his surveillance. It had to be new.

“Had it sent from back home,” said Bond, opening the driver’s side door and tossing in his briefcase. “It just came in this morning. I find it prevents homesickness.” He gave Q a kind smile and added: “Kind of like being around you. Can I offer you a lift?”

Q’s heart did a back-flip and his eyes lit up. “I’d love one,” he said as smoothly as he could manage. He hoped he didn’t sound too eager. Bond gave him a lop-sided grin and they drove off to Q’s off-campus home.

 

~080~

 

“Bennett’s up to something,” said Q. “I’ll need the crew.” He turned away from his computer monitors in the sitting room to face Lita at the kitchen table. He had been watching the professor ever since they had met three weeks ago. For the most part, he was a man of particular habits, but as the weeks went on, Q suspected him of more than just teaching classes and keeping office hours. He hadn’t discovered anything solid yet, but there was certainly something going on. Q wanted to know more.

Lita looked up from her maths and shrugged. “You know I’m in. I can probably get Blue and Whitney as well. When and where?”

“Sunday would be best,” said Q. “And we’re doing the Honors house.”

Lita nodded. “I’ll call them tonight. But, why there?” asked Lita.

“Because I’m keeping tabs on Bennett. He’s up to something weird. I don’t know what yet. Besides, the first meeting I’m attending for Honor Society is Monday night,” said Q.

“You’re what?” Lita looked at him as though he had three heads. Q explained his deal with Bennett. “Well fuck me running,” she mumbled. She knew he had the grades to belong; in fact, he had been invited last year and declined. She looked at him sharply. “Do you have any idea why he asked you specifically?”

“Dunno,” said Q. “I suppose he likes me because I’m so damn handsome.”

Lita laughed. “Well, you are cute in a geeky hipster kind of way, I suppose. But seriously, why you?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” said Q. “But it did get me into Cosmology.”

Lita grinned at him like the Cheshire cat. “And you certainly lucked out there, you bastard.” Q blushed to his ears. “I bet you that I can make an impression on him as well, you know. Gallman and he are in the same department and I work for Gallman. We’re bound to bump into each other eventually.”

Q shook his head. “Bedding your professors is not wise, Lita darling,” he said.

“But he’s not my professor,” she countered. “So for me it’s like the old adage goes: it’s not premarital sex if you never plan on getting married; therefore it’s not sleeping with your professor if he’s not actually your professor. But… he _is_ yours. And you want to bed him, don’t you, my sweet little cupcake?” Q blushed again. “I thought so,” she said and shrugged. “So I’ll make you a deal: if you bed him – with proof – I’ll give you full control of my finances for the year, no credit cards, no nothing. I come to you if I want to buy a stick of gum and if you say no, I have to live with it.”

Q was intrigued. “You’re that confident?” Lita nodded. “Alright, what kind of proof is required and what do I have to do if I lose?”

“Photographic proof, of course – on your phone, not with your cams,” she said. “And if you lose, you have to shut down your cams for the rest of this year.”

“Fucking hell!” said Q.

“Then I guess you’d better win,” said Lita.

 

~080~

 

Bond had noticed Bennett’s habits too. He also noted that the man enjoyed reading in the professor’s prep room at four in the afternoon every Thursday. Bond made sure that he was already there and working when Bennett arrived. There were three other professors present as well, each buried in their own work.

The prep room, or the Lounge as it was called casually, was a well-lit space in the Hafer building, one of the buildings full of classrooms. The Lounge was situated on the top floor and gave a sweeping view of the campus. Several individual desks were scattered about and there was one big conference table that sat in front of the windowed wall. It was here that most department meetings were held, each department blocking off time to use the room privately for the monthly status meetings. The room was relatively open for the remainder of the time and the educators had all silently appropriated the space as an alternative for their offices which were decidedly cramped and stuffy for most.

Marlene Karna, Cranston Johnson, and Warren Davis were all quietly working away alongside Bond. The three had taken the open desks and Bond had opted for the end of the conference table. He had star charts to spread out and it afforded him the most space. He chuckled to himself; he was taking this all so seriously. He had learned a fair bit about mapping the stars in the Royal Navy, but he never thought he’d be using that knowledge to teach constellations or the evolution of the universe to actual students.

There was a part of him that found the normalcy of teaching comforting: it appealed to his sense of discipline and control. But there was an even bigger part of himself that was screaming “get on with it!” because he’d not yet made substantive contact with his target. He knew he was playing this for the long game and while he could see that it would all be worth it in the end; the mission would be completely successful if he remained patient and stayed on target. He also knew MI6 wanted the formula just as quickly and badly as any other country would and that his assignment was to secure it for his nation first, but he really felt that a well-placed bullet would be the best solution for all involved – excepting Bennett himself, of course. M had called him a blunt instrument once. Considering his current train of thought, Bond didn’t think she was wrong.

Bennett entered the room, looked about and saw that his customary chair at the end of the conference table was taken by Bond and his things. With the slightly annoyed huff of a man set in his ways, he opted for the opposite end of the oval. It didn’t have the best angle of light, but all he was doing was reading a book for pleasure, so it didn’t seem so important to disturb Bond. Bond looked up at Bennett and gave him a nod and a smile. Bennett returned the nod only.

“I don’t believe we’ve met formally,” said Bond as he strode over to Bennett. “The name’s Bond. James Bond.” He put out his hand.

Bennett shook it quickly but extremely firmly. “Declan Bennett, sciences,” he said.

“Yes I know,” said Bond. “We work in the same department. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your office-mate, Flavin.”

Bennett grunted, his body language clearly communicating that he didn’t want to be disturbed. “Yes yes,” he replied. “Good teacher. Well, I mustn’t keep you from your preparations.” He held out his book, open to the page he was reading and cleared his throat, indicating that he was to not be disturbed.

Bond pretended not to take the hint. He sat in the nearest chair and said, “Listen, there’s been something I’ve wanted to ask you,” he began. Out of the corner of Bond’s eye he could see Marlene Karna tensely watching them.

Bennett glared at Bond over his book without moving for a moment as if deciding what to do. Finally he said: “Of course, what is it?” The book and his stare never changed. He was clearly annoyed.

“What are your thoughts on Glaros? I mean, I don’t mean to gossip, but I really don’t know about her as a department head, you know?” said Bond.

“She’s competent enough,” Bennett replied. “If you have a problem with her then perhaps you should speak to her.”

“Well that’s just it,” said Bond. “I can’t. At least, I feel I can’t. I’m still too new to all this that I think if I had an advocate on my side I would at least come off a bit stronger for an argument against her as department head. She’s a nice person, but she’s a bit too… I don’t know… power mad? Doesn’t she strike you as that?”

“Women,” said Bennett, “if you give them a whiff of power, it goes straight to the head…” He looked at Marlene, weakly smiled, and added: “sometimes.” For her part, Marlene weakly smiled back and remained silent, tipping her head back down to her notes. “If you feel you can do a better job, Mr. Bond…” said Bennett.

“Well,” said Bond. “I wasn’t thinking of me, actually. I was thinking of someone else; someone with a bit of tenure, who knew their subject well. I was thinking of someone also who had other responsibilities on campus; someone who showed an avid interest in the students. I think it’s important to have a department head that has a grasp of the responsibility but carries the power off in a more affable way. You know?”

Bennett chuckled. “You’re not thinking of me, are you? Because if you are-“

“Oh no!” said Bond. “I barely know you. No, I was thinking of Professor Flavin. He seems just the right man for the job, wouldn’t you agree?” Bond noticed that Johnson and Davis both gathered their things and left the room. It seemed they didn’t want to be around for Bennett’s reaction to that statement. Karna seemed frozen to the spot, head buried in her work. The professors were not wrong as to how badly Bennett would take this revelation.

“That old bastard!?” cried Bennett. “Why he’s ripe for retirement! Why would you make him a department head when you have better, more viable, and younger candidates for the job?”

“You mean like you?” asked Bond.

“Well,” said Bennett, “now that you mention it.” He narrowed his eyes at Bond. “What are you up to, my boy?”

“I’m simply trying to fix a problem that I see,” said Bond. “As a newcomer here, you could say that I have a fresh perspective. And while I respect Dean Glaros, I really don’t think she’s doing what she’s best at. She seems overwhelmed and a bit heavy-handed as a result.” It was Bond’s turn to look at Marlene. “It’s nothing to do with her being a woman at all, of course.” She glanced up at him and smiled a bit more brightly for Bond. He turned back to Bennett: “But she does seem as if she’s got too much on her plate. What do you think?”

“I think you may have a point,” said Bennett thoughtfully.

“Then I can count on you for your support if I go to the president of the college with my concerns?” asked Bond. “Perhaps even give your name as a prospective replacement?”

“Yes,” said Bennett, “that would be most generous of you.” Bond rose to his feet. He gave Bond a look that bordered on fondness. “You’re very passionate, aren’t you Bond?”

“I like to think so,” said Bond. “And call me James.” Again, Bond stuck out his hand. Bennett shook it with a bit more vigor than before and Bond gave him his most charming grin.

An hour later, Bond was fully engrossed in the constellations of the Southern hemisphere when he felt a presence at his shoulder. His flinch reaction had his hand heading toward a weapon that was not there to draw and he arrested its movement as smoothly as he could before looking up. Marlene Karna looked down at him smiling. “Hello,” said Bond.

“Hello,” she said. “My name’s Marlene Karna. It’s nice to meet you Bond, James Bond.” A clever twinkle in her eye only enhanced her smiling face as she shook hands with Bond. “I just wanted to introduce myself and tell you that I’m leaving. You’re the last one here so you have to lock up, alright?”

“I don’t have a key,” he said.

“Ah,” she replied, “well I do have to go. And if you’re not done, perhaps one of the other teachers would lock up for you if I find someone.”

“Nonsense,” said Bond, gathering his things. “I can just as easily do this at home. It’s alright.”

“Tell you what,” she offered, “come to my classroom tomorrow and I’ll get you a copy of the key for yourself. Sound good?”

“Brilliant,” said Bond, grinning. “When and where?”

“My sketch class is at ten in the morning tomorrow,” she said. “Ground level of this very building. Room 301.”

“Got it. And thank you, Marlene,” said Bond.

She waited for him to finish collecting his belongings and they both left. As she locked the door, Bond took a moment to appraise her: dusky skin, tall, fit, black hair to her shoulders, and a prominent wedding band. “Does your husband teach here as well?” he asked.

“My husband has better things to do than to be home,” she replied as they gained the stairwell to the ground level.

“Pity,” said Bond and he grinned. “How do you occupy yourself?” He watched her figure sway before him as she descended.

“I sleep with other men,” she said. “But my husband doesn’t mind.” Bond nearly tripped.

“Oh?” said Bond. “Why?”

“Because that’s what he’s doing too,” she said. She shrugged. “Arranged marriages are sometimes exactly that: an arrangement.”

“And you’re alright with this?” he asked.

“For the past seventeen years,” she said. “He’s in New Delhi on business most of the year; I’m here most of the year. We keep in touch. We are best friends. We were never lovers. He does his thing; I do mine. It works for us. Dinner?”

Bond came up short at the question but soon recovered. “I’d love to,” he replied.

 

~080~

 

He did not take Marlene Karna to his bed that night. He should have. By all rights, he should have. All the signs were there: her coy smile, her frank disclosure about her relationship with her husband, small touches over dinner, some not-so-subtle innuendo. He dropped her off at her car on campus and watched her drive away. She didn’t seem too upset, thankfully. Bond reckoned that she was the type of woman who was willing to bide her time. Besides, he would see her tomorrow for the key.

As he drove to his home, his thoughts drifted to his classes. He wasn’t worried about his progress with Bennett; he knew he was in good with him. The man was almost eating out of his hand. Bond could smell a power-hungry bastard a mile off and this was just the first step in watching him fall like a domino. So without Bennett as a going concern, Bond found himself worrying about the next set of quizzes and the next few lessons for his classes.

He loved teaching when he allowed himself to relax enough. The astronomy class was going well and he knew the subject enough to get by with instructing others, but the cosmology class was a different matter. It was full of information that he had to impart and not get wrong. There were a few astrophysics majors in his class and he was their first practical step to becoming the future of the science. Without a solid foundation, they would fail. And despite the whole thing being a hoax, Bond couldn’t help but look out into the sea of faces and want to do right by them.

Today was also benchmarked by the arrival of Q. As Bond pulled into his driveway, he recalled that somehow the classroom mood shifted when Q walked in. Bond had noticed some people regarding him with wary interest. Others were friendly. But no one ignored him. They were all aware of who he was. Bond wondered why that was. There had to be more to the boy than the frail frame and nervous demeanor. He unlocked his door, piled his things on the kitchen table, and went up to his bedroom.

He stretched himself over the mattress. Bond’s cock twitched as he recalled the boy’s physical self: he wore a dark t-shirt and jeans that day, his hair a mess of black mop as though a cat had styled it. He had a two-day growth of beard that made him look scruffy and Bond wondered how that would feel along his skin if he ever bedded the boy.

His erection pressed at his clothing and Bond palmed it. He turned his head toward the bedroom window. Like the bathroom, it was a big bay with little-to-no window treatments. There was a valance curtain that hung above, but there was nothing else to block the light except a folding screen that stood off to the side. Bond could see trees, shrubbery, and the streetlamp on the telephone pole opposite very clearly from his vantage point, but that was all as he continued to stimulate himself to full arousal.

He closed his eyes and thought of Q.

 

~080~

 

Q watched Bennett on one monitor and Bond on the other. The house was quiet except for his soft mouse clicks as he moved from cam to cam, tracing both men’s movements through their days. Bennett and Bond had some kind of a talk in the lounge, Marlene left with Bond; they went to dinner. Q felt jealously flare up inside him at the sight of Marlene placing her hand on Bond’s as she talked. Between the candlelight and the obvious flirting, Q was certain he would be forced to bear witness as Marlene slept with another of her coworkers. He wanted to shout at the screen for Bond to get away from her, that she was no one to get involved with, that she was fickle and inconstant. Q wished he had a way of whispering into Bond’s ear that he should make a speedy and tactical retreat.

It wasn’t that Marlene was a bad person. Q had nothing against her. It’s just that Marlene was flirting with _his_ James.

Q paused. He looked away from the monitors for a moment to absorb the thought that had just come into his brain. “ _His James_ ”? What the fuck was that? They had barely spoken twice. Q shook off as much of the jealousy as he could and forced himself to become distracted by microwaving dinner for himself.

When he came back to the screens, Bennett was just getting home and would remain there for the evening. He was no longer of interest to Q. Bond and Marlene were just leaving the restaurant at the same moment, so he focused all his cams on the silver ’64 Aston Martin in the street. He was able to see it (or part of it) from three different angles at different distances. He tracked it back to campus and watched with jealously growling in his ear as Bond politely allowed himself to be embraced and kissed on the cheek. Marlene got in her car and drove off. Bond stayed a moment in the car park and smoked a cigarette. He didn’t follow her.

Q could barely believe it. All that flirting and he didn’t take the bait! It was like a Christmas miracle. He wrapped himself up in his joy and indulged himself in watching Bond slowly enjoying his smoke. He had him up on all four monitors at different angles and focus. The one cam that was able to get a close-up of Bond held all of Q’s attention for the entire duration. Q’s trance was so deep that the only thing that seemed to snap him out of it was realizing that he was petting his computer screen. Instantly he sat up and cleared his throat.

Bond left for his house shortly thereafter. Q traced him the whole way, watched as he parked his car, and sat up when the bedroom light came on. Bond was headed straight for bed. Q crossed his fingers that he would shower beforehand. Instead, Bond chose to do something even better.

Q watched with fascination as Bond palmed at his trousers. Eventually Bond pulled at his shirt and unbuttoned it fully, exposing his well-maintained muscular chest. Q kept his eyes riveted as Bond continued to rub himself, caressing his chest, twisting a nipple, licking his lips. A masochistic part of Q wondered how Bond was picturing Marlene at that moment. He felt a pang of jealousy and pain move through him as he continued to watch Bond unfasten his flies and pull out his heavy cock.

 

~080~

 

Bond was picturing Q standing at the foot of his bed and giving him soft-spoken orders to touch himself.

_That’s it, James… just like that._

“Please Q,” Bond heard himself beg.

_Not yet, James. Miles to go yet. Just with your fingertips now. Up and down the shaft. Tease yourself for me._

‘I want you, Q,” said Bond, his hips grinding away at what scant friction there was to be had.

_Yes, James. And I want you. Keep going._

“Will you help me?” said Bond.

_Shh… you know what I want. Keep going._

“I know what you want, Q,” said Bond.

_That’s right. You know what I want. Tell me what I want, James._

“You want me to cum when you tell me to, Q” said Bond.

_That’s right, love. Cum only when I tell you to. Only when I order you to._

“Yes, sir,” said Bond. “Oh God, Q… yes.”

 

~080~

 

Q could tell Bond was talking. He wasn’t very good at lip-reading and he had his cam zoomed in to its tightest angle. It was agony to only have one view of this at a time. He wished to God he had one full-length view and another solely focused on Bond’s face.

Q screwed up his face in study. I want you… something. Was it? Could it have been?

_I know what you want, Q._

Jesus bloody Nora.

James Bond was thinking about him and wanking. There was no other explanation. Q watched again as Bond seemed to say: “Oh God, Q… yes.”

Q began to stroke himself immediately. He zoomed the picture out and watched as Bond teased and stroked himself for several minutes: now caressing his balls, now pinching his nipple, now rubbing over his abdomen, spreading precum over himself, always teasing, stretching it out, making it last.

“Christ, James,” said Q. He wished to God he had audio on this. He wished to God Bond could hear him, could see him. He wanted to wank for Bond and have him watch. His cock was stiff instantly at the thought and Q watched Bond and attempted to match the man’s rhythm. It was as close to actual sex together as Q had ever hoped to have and it was fucking gorgeous.

Q noticed a fine sheen of sweat appear on Bond’s brow and in the very center of his chest. He never wanted to lick at something so fucking badly in his life.

 

~080~

 

_More, James. Give me just a little more. That’s right._

“Yes, Q,” said Bond.

_Now grip yourself fully, James. Just so. Perfect. Look at me. Look right at me. You want me, don’t you, James?_

Yes, Q,” said Bond.

_Then give yourself to me. Come on. All of you. Right now, James. Put your hips into it. Fuck your fist. Faster._

“Yes,” said Bond.

_Faster._

God, Q,” said Bond.

_Fuck yourself for me, James._

Bond said something slightly incoherent in his efforts to fuck his fist harder for his imaginary Q. He wanted to cum, but he held off. He felt his balls tighten, but still he denied himself.

_Discipline, 007._

He pulled at the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm and he felt it back down a bit.

_I didn’t tell you to do that, James._

“I know, Q,” said James. “But you don’t want me to cum yet. I had to.”

Q said nothing to this.

“I only want to cum when you tell me, Q,” said Bond.

 

~080~

 

“I only want to cum when you tell me, Q,” the image said. Q was getting better at reading his lips. The only trouble now was believing what he was reading.

“Fucking hell,” muttered Q as he stroked his erection underneath the cover of his sweatpants. His precum was free-flowing and he smoothed it along his shaft to provide glide for his hand. “More, James,” said Q to the screen. “Give me more.”

 

~080~

 

_Push yourself to the limit again, James. I want you right on the edge. Come on._

“Yes, Q,” said Bond. “Anything you say.” He stroked his cock fully, running a thumb over the head and teasing the frenulum with a fingertip. A swell of heat spread and Bond felt as if he were stoking a fire that had gone low. Soon enough he was pumping away at himself, imagining the boy above him, stern, vigilant, never moving, and never taking his eyes off of Bond’s face.

Bond felt his orgasm building in short order and he took steps to bring himself back down when he couldn’t stand it any longer. The give and take of it all had him whining.

_Good boy, James. I’m proud of you. Do it again._

“Oh God, Q,” said James. “Please.”

_No. Do it again, 007._

He built it back up slowly again, working the head, smoothing the precum, stroking the shaft. He was about to break again when his fantasy let him have what he wanted.

_Now, James. Cum for me now._

“Oh yes, Q,” said Bond. “Thank you, Q. You gorgeous boy. Thank you.” James shut his eyes tight and rode out one of the best orgasms he had ever managed to give himself. Q’s name was on his lips as he cried out his last, spending himself, and coating his stomach with sperm.

 

~080~

 

“Ah, James!” cried Q as he came hard. His sweatpants were a mess, but he kept stroking himself through his orgasm, head leaned back, mouth open, eyes glued to the exhausted and filthy man on his monitor.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered as he came down. Then he sat up with a start and said: “Holy FUCK!” because his brain remembered that he was supposed to meet with that man - that walking porno - at five o’clock tomorrow.

“Oh, I’m in deep shit,” he lamented and an irrational part of his brain considered flying back to England in the morning and staying there forever. He looked down at himself. “Nothing for it,” he said. He only hoped he didn’t get an erection while the man was teaching him tomorrow. That would never do.


	4. Chapter 4

Marlene Karna’s class was in the lowest level of the Hafer building adjacent to the Fine Arts offices. Bond found her rooms easily and gave a light knock on the door just after 10am. A tall student with hair matted down into dreadlocks answered. In the distance Marlene waved him in silently and said: “Thank you, Peter. Back to your easel please.”

The room spread out to Bond’s left and there were twelve easels set up with a student behind each forming a circle that faced some staging that was draped in red silk. Peter took his seat before the easel closest to the door and gave Bond a smile and a nod which the agent returned.

Marlene was at his side. “Give me a moment to get my class organized and I’ll get you that key,” she said. “Are you in a rush?”

She looked beautiful in the dark purple blouse she wore and Bond suddenly realized that he had all the time in the world. “Not at all,” he assured her. “Please.” And he gestured a hand toward her class.

“Alright everyone,” said Marlene. “Today is the first day of full-class figure drawing. We will be using this pose for the next three weeks. My suggestion is to work on the part of the body you feel you struggle with the most. We will go from there. Any questions? No? Good. If you have any problems, just call me over, but today is pure drawing in silence unless otherwise necessary. You have an hour.” She moved toward the other side of the classroom to a door on the other side of the circle of easels.

A young woman with shining black hair that had bright blue tips came in wearing a red kimono. She smiled demurely at the class and took her place on the staging at the center of the circle. She noticed Bond and her eyes seemed to light up. With a small smile and her eyes glued to Bond, she dropped the robe to reveal her naked body to the room. She winked at him playfully and draped herself over the silk-draped structure, posing as Marlene instructed her.

Bond felt himself smile back at the girl, at her boldness, as they both held their glance. Once again, Marlene was at Bond’s side, a key between her manicured fingertips. “Here you go, James,” she said. He took the key from her but didn’t break his stare. Marlene followed his glance and looked back at him. “See something you like?” she asked.

James took his eyes off the model to glance affectionately at Marlene. “There is far too much beauty in this room all at once,” he said.

“Then may I suggest taking your leave?” she said, a playful look in her eyes. She leaned in and whispered: “And besides: she’s a student.” She pulled back to look in his eyes. “Naughty, naughty,” she teased.

James smiled and lowered his eyes in mock shame. “Thanks for the key, Marlene,” he said. “Have a good class.”

At one in the afternoon Bond was leaving his office, a book and star chart under one arm, his attaché under the other, and a briefcase in one hand as he attempted to lock his door. “Let me get that for you,” a voice came from behind. He turned to see the model from earlier that day.

“It’s you,” said Bond.

“Almost didn’t recognize me with my clothes on, eh?” she said.

“Yes,” said Bond. “I mean… well…” He could feel himself getting beet red.

She laughed. “It’s alright,” she said. “I get that a lot.” She took his keys from his hand and turned her back to him to lock the door. As she did, she said, “I mean, it’s not exactly the most common job on campus. But it pays pretty well and I love to buy shoes, so…” she turned back to him, holding out his keys. “A girl’s got to have good shoes. Otherwise, what’s the point to life?”

Bond grinned at her softly. He held his hand out for the keys and she drew them back suddenly. “You can’t just carry these in your hand the whole time. You might drop them. Which pocket?” Her eyes were open and innocent, but Bond was no fool: he knew when a woman was flirting with him.

“Jacket,” he replied. “Inside. My left.” Their eyes locked again as she slowly dropped the keys in the pocket indicated. She cheekily stole a moment to smooth down his jacket with her hand, feeling his chest at the same time.

“There now,” she said. “Much better.”

“Thank you for your assistance… um?” he asked.

“Lita,” she replied. “Lita White.” She placed her hand in his free one and shook it gently. Unfortunately, the star chart in its tube and the book both hit the floor. “Oh well damn,” said Lita as she bent over to grab the tube and Bond knelt to get the book. She handed it to him with a smile and asked: “And whom do I have the honor of helping today?”

“Bond,” he said. “Professor James Bond.” He stood and looked down somewhat surprised that she was flattening the lapels of his jacket once again. “Thank you, Lita, but I think that’ll be all.”

Lita smiled undaunted. “I’m TA for Professor Gallman this year. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Bond, James Bond, professor. Good to have you here. Don’t be a stranger.” She turned and sauntered off down the hall.

The way she walked Bond was certain that she knew he was staring at her arse. And he was. He took a deep breath and shook his head. He glanced up and caught sight of a secondary smoke detector against the ceiling just near another smoke detector. That didn’t seem right. Had he not glanced up at that moment, he was certain that he would have never noticed. Perhaps it was a cheap way of updating the fire safety of the building: don’t bother taking down the old gear, just put up new beside it. Or in this case, just underneath it.

He walked down the hall and exited the building noting three more on his way out. He deposited his things in his car and drove to the science building across campus. With the departure of Professor Kennedy, Flavin had told him of the spare room on the top floor of the building that could be used as temporary storage for his things between classes. As he headed away from depositing all but the briefcase, he glanced down the corridor. There again was another smoke detector just under an old bell that had served as a fire alarm for the building years before. Another detector was further down the corridor, modern, but without a more ultra-modern counterpart. Either this school had an unusual proclivity for fires, or someone was hyper-vigilant about arson.

Bond acted as naturally as he could as he locked the door and made his way from the top floor to his astronomy 101 class at ground level. He noticed that there were two more in that classroom as well. He wanted to write it all off as his paranoia kicking in, but there was no stopping that ill feeling that he was being watched. He had seen too many clever devices come out of MI6 to simply dismiss the possibility that he could be under surveillance. “It’s got to be CIA,” he muttered to himself. “Fucking Jack.”

Bond determined to have the CIA know that he was aware of their presence. It would be a full half-hour before his class got started; no one would be looking for him and the building was relatively silent for a Friday, the only other classes taking place on the floors above. He searched through the desk drawers but found nothing to help him. He casually went to the janitor’s closet on the main floor and picked the lock with a pick set he kept in his wallet for emergencies, fully aware that there was another camera at his back. Fortunately, this one couldn’t see what he was doing other than merely unlocking the door, so he gained access, grabbed a screwdriver, slipped it into his interior jacket pocket, and locked the door behind him.

The devices came off the wall easily enough, but they were placed there with the intention of being there for a long time. When they came off, Bond noted that the screws were sunk into the plaster walls with wall anchors and that the paint within the footprint of the device was more yellowed with age. This wasn’t the CIA. There’s no way they would set up surveillance before they even knew there was anything to watch. This was someone else.

Bond inspected the device. It was as he suspected: cameras on a swivel base meant to capture every movement in a room. Based on the components, Bond suspected remote control because there was no hard-wiring in either of them to connect them to anything physical in the building. The operator of these had to be close by unless the transmission field was expanded. Bond noticed that someone had messed with the innards of the thing: the solder points and some of the connections had been re-done fresh. This wasn’t your average home surveillance system, although it seemed to have started life that way. Whomever had done this was clever indeed. Bond was impressed.

Bond was also even more paranoid than ever. He determined to get through his class that day and spend the next two hours before he had to meet Q noting where all the cameras were. He vaguely wondered if the president of the college had ordered these devices made to cut down on cheating, vandalism, or what. But he dismissed that idea as soon as he conceived of it: the college didn’t want to spring for new star charts or teaching tools for his department, why would they pay a mint for surveillance equipment? It didn’t make sense.

He pulled the battery out of each device and placed all the components in his briefcase. He’d give everything a proper look later and contact TSS to report on this development. If there were third parties involved in the capture of Bennett with access to this surveillance, Bond would have to move fast to get him and the formula secured before he could sell it to the highest bidder or worse – get himself kidnapped by parties unknown.

 

~080~

 

The Honors building used to be a fraternity house and was just two houses outside the gates at one of the side entrances to the school. It was a plain white shingled affair, three stories with two eves at the attic, and a large front porch. It was also in dire need of a decent paint job. The old letters of sigma-nu-delta were still visible even after the letters had come down and it had been repainted back in ‘79. Of course, it didn’t help that the school was too cheap to use a proper primer every time they painted. But even if they did do it properly, nothing could wash away the legacy of that house which was all too-familiar to anyone who had matriculated at Gold Hill. Everyone knew about the cancellation of all fraternity and sorority charters on campus and the frat responsible for the clean sweep.

No one knew which window on the second floor the empty keg was cast out of and no one knew the name of the girl who got struck and killed with it but everyone knew about the keg party that caused her death. It was spring semester and the campus was getting ready for spring break. Partying was at an all-time high and Sigma was at the forefront of all parties on campus; they were infamous and this party was no exception.

She might have been a freshman, but too many years had passed for anyone to be sure. All anyone knows is that she was talking with a friend below that window when the keg came down and crushed her skull. Legend has it the friend killed herself the next year because of the memories. They say she went mad. They also say that the Sigma building is haunted by them both.

Q glanced up at the Sigma building thinking it ironic that the Greek letters almost spelled out the English word END. He wasn’t afraid of ghosts. Lita wasn’t either. Blue was wary of the place and Whitney was excited to finally get to explore. “Why couldn’t we do this at night when the ghosts might be around?” she asked.

Q gave her a sour look and said, “Not why we’re here, love.” He put out his cigarette and added: “Let’s get started, shall we?”

“Are you sure we should be doing this in the middle of the morning?” Blue asked. “I mean, won’t someone be around?”

“Nah,” said Q. “Bennett’s got classes all damn day and everyone else in the Honor Society is in class or at their on-campus jobs. We’re good.”

“I love how you know all this shit,” said Lita. Q smiled at her.

It took three tries but eventually Blue got the door unlocked. The rest of them sat casually on the porch or stood in front of the door as Blue worked. The structure was used as a quiet study hall for key-holding senior members as well as a meeting place; if anyone were to observe them, they would think the Honors building had some students who had gathered to study.

Q passed out the cams, wall anchors, screws, and drills to each person. “Cover the place like we discussed.” During last night’s meeting Q had the opportunity to explore the building under the guise of getting to know the place and had managed to map the place in his head, plotting out vantage points for his cams that would give him maximum coverage with minimal cameras. They hung them everywhere: basement to attic and every room in between where there were smoke alarms. Then they placed a relay on the roof. It was done inside of forty-five minutes. Blue locked the door and slammed it shut and Q placed a notice on the door to let the next passer-by know that in cooperation with the local fire marshal, all smoke alarms had been replaced with new versions by the college. It looked official enough to fool even the president.

“That should do it,” said Q and he gave Whitney and Blue some money for their trouble. “Cheers, you lot.”

After they had parted company, Lita walked back to campus with Q. She held out her hand. He stared at it in confusion. “What?”

“Where’s mine?” she asked.

“Oh no, my girl,” he said to her. “You’re far too loose with your cash. I’m hanging onto it.”

“But that deal was only if I fail to seduce Professor Bond,” she said. “And I’ve already made headway.”

“I know the deal. I’m hanging onto it anyway. I mean, it’s not as if you can pay rent this month, can you? And besides, what are you on about “making headway”?” he asked.

Lita smiled and told him about the sketch class and how he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She also told him. “And,” she added, “I plan on “bumping into him” later on before his next class. Oh my dearest Q, you are going to lose and lose big on this one.”

Jealousy threatened to burn a hole right through him as he listened to her gloat. It wasn’t fair. Jesus, if he could have a plausible enough reason to get away with being naked in front of James, he’d do it in a heartbeat - especially after last night’s revelation. Q was tempted to gloat right back at her and play the tape for her to see, but something inside him told him to shut his mouth. “I guess I’d better up my game,” he said. “I could do it tonight after work.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “Are you planning on stalking him in the flesh? Have you become that courageous? I didn’t think you had it in you, Q.”

“Don’t be daft,” he scolded. “I have a certain opportunity to run into Professor Bond after work today. I’m just saying that I plan on making the most of it.”

Lita stopped walking, allowing Q to get a few paces ahead. When he turned to her she narrowed her eyes and asked: “What the hell are you up to, Geoffrey Boothroyd?”

Q smiled. “Just playing the game, Lita dear. So you’d better make your meet-up with him count for something.”

 

~080~

 

Gold Hill library was built along the same architecture as the other buildings on campus: brick, white trim, shingled roof. It stood five storeys tall including the basement which could be accessed directly from the parking lot at the back of the building. The front entrance was on the opposite side and the columned edifice faced the quadrangle and the Hafer building beyond. All the floors contained books of every practical description as well as carrels interspersed throughout in order for students to do their work.

The top floor of Gold Hill library contained the greatest collection of those same private study rooms, each with a door containing a small window. No bigger than an average broom cupboard, most of the carrels contained a metal desk that was bolted into one corner and two chairs: one at the long side, the other at the short, but those were put in after the library’s grand refit back in ‘92. These newer rooms were kept locked by the librarians and you had to request and sign out a key in order for them to be used. The older study rooms on the top floor ringed the building’s exterior walls; they were windowed affairs and the dimensions were generous compared to their modern counterparts, though that meant that there weren't many of them. It was in the rear-most room on the right of the building where Bond had chosen to set up his display. That particular room only had one window and as Bond drew the heavy curtains across it, he noticed Q making his way across the parking lot toward the building. He was carrying a large brown cardboard box with him and Bond wondered what he was up to.

Q had told him that he would be working in the computer lab until five that day and that he would be straight up afterward, but from what Bond could see it was 4:50pm and Q was walking in just then. He shrugged and waited for the boy to join him, a part of him excited to be in the same room alone with him, another part of him terrified to be alone in the same room with him.

Bond was walking a tightrope with the student and he knew it. Q and he were friendly enough, having England in common, but if he entangled himself with a student, it could be detrimental to Q as well as to MI6. If it came out that he was MI6 and that he had seduced a student - as part of a mision or not - he wouldn’t want to think about what M would do to him then. This was almost as bad as the time when Alec was given that gypsy girl as payment for a favor done; that was a bad enough mess to clear up. This wouldn’t just get him sacked, it would tarnish the reputation of MI6, the British Government, England, and make Q’s life a living hell.

Bond set up the DVD and television as well as the mini-planetarium projector which he sat on the large wooden table in the center of the room. This meet-up was going to be about education if it killed him.

Q knocked on the door and opened it shortly afterward. “Hello,” he said. “Minerva down at the front desk tried to stop me, but I think I lost her. I figured fourth floor, but I didn’t know for sure. Glad I found you right away.” He walked in and set down the cardboard box as gently as he could on the table’s edge. “It was a trick to get this past her. But I managed it. And she does like me, so there’s that.” Bond looked from the box to Q, a questioning look on his face. “Oh, this?” he asked, pointing at the box. Bond stood tall, crossed his arms, and waited. “Uh, well,” began Q, shrinking under Bond’s glare. “I thought… since it’s five… and I haven’t eaten… and you haven’t eaten…” He shrugged apologetically. “I hope you like Chinese.”

Q opened the box carefully and pulled out item after item naming things as he went along. “Two Egg drop soups with bits of green onion and enokitake mushrooms, hot tea, some bottled water, pork lo mein, shrimp and walnuts, pepper steak…” A hand fell on his shoulder and he stopped.

“I didn’t think food was permitted in the library, Q,” said Bond. The man was standing so close to Q he could feel his body heat radiating from him in the slightly chilly room.

“It isn’t,” said Q. “That’s why I needed to sneak it in. But I thought… for private study with a professor… that a few rules could be bent?” He looked at Bond hopefully.

Bond couldn’t help himself. “Is the fried rice any good?”

“The best,” said Q, grinning and holding up a Chinese container by its metal handle in the crook of one finger.

Bond started the DVD as they spread out the food to eat. Carl Sagan was speaking about the universe and Q was attempting to wolf down lo mein while taking notes. The restaurant had given them plates, forks, and chopsticks and each man’s plate was heaped high.

“Nice to know you eat,” said Bond. “Looking at you, I had my doubts.”

“I eat,” said Q around another mouthful. “I have a high metabolism though. Everyone thinks I starve. But in all fairness, I usually eat nothing but empty calories and junk most of the time; this is a feast. But I won’t gain an ounce no matter what. Can’t help it.”

“So carbs, caffeine, and sweets then?” asked Bond.

Q nodded. Bond watched him for a few more minutes as Mr. Sagan introduced his audience to the mysteries of gravity and its effect on the solar system we call home. “No chopsticks?” asked Bond.

“Hm?” asked Q around another mouthful. He shook his head by way of answer and when he swallowed he said: “I like for the food to actually make it to my mouth. I’m a bit rubbish with chopsticks.”

“Nonsense,” said Bond. “Anyone can learn.”

“Not me,” said Q. “I really am horrible. And don’t try to train me with a rubber band at one end. It’ll only end in disaster at best, a trip to casualty at worst. Sorry.”

“Can you hold a pencil?” asked Bond.

“What?” asked Q, his mouth full again.

Bond stood up and leaned over the back of Q’s chair. He took some chopsticks from their paper packet, broke them apart at the end, took Q’s fork from him, and placed one of the chopsticks into Q’s hand. “Honestly, James-” said Q and he stopped himself, misremembering whether or not James had actually allowed him to call him James. He blushed instantly.

“Now Q,” said Bond, “just indulge an old man, will you?”

“You’re not old,” said Q looking up at him. The man’s face was mere inches away and Q was having a hard time remembering how to breathe. He could feel Bond’s warm rough hands on his as they positioned the chopstick correctly against his fourth finger and the crook between his thumb and index.

“Now move your thumb inward to grasp it and hold it steady,” said Bond. He picked up the other stick and placed it between the tips of Q’s thumb, index, and second fingertips. “See,” said Bond, “it’s just like holding a pencil. Now move just the top stick with the tips of your fingers so that the tip of the top stick comes into contact with the steady one at the bottom. It’s just a little movement. See? Easy.” Q grinned at the small movement that seemed to be happening automatically in his hand. “Now try and pick up the paper wrapping that the chopsticks came in,” Bond suggested.

Much to Q’s surprise, he was able to do so without poking his own eye out. He held it aloft and gazed at it in wonder. “You’re a miracle worker,” said Q.

Bond lowered his head and for a breathless moment, Q thought he was going to kiss him on the neck. “You just hadn’t had a proper teacher,” said Bond.

Q shivered as he felt Bond’s breath through his jumper and against his skin. “Thank you,” he managed.

Bond’s eyes flickered to his and he backed away. “No. Thank you, Q,” he said from behind him. “The meal was generous and very thoughtful.” A hand skimmed through the back of Q’s hair and Q felt the beginnings of an erection.

Bond sat down and berated himself for his foolishness. What in God’s name was he thinking? He could hear M now repeating a litany of rules and regs that would bore anyone to tears. This boy wasn’t his mission. What in the hell was he doing here? Bond cleared his throat and focused on his meal. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Q attempting to lift a piece of pepper steak to his lips. Bond smiled at his plate when the food made it to its intended target.

The victory was short-lived; walnut shrimp proved Q’s downfall and both shrimp and chopstick met Q’s shirt, trousers, and then the floor. Q looked at Bond helplessly and Bond couldn’t stop a giggle from coming to the surface.

“It’s not funny, James,” said Q. He didn’t think about not using Bond’s first name; he was too annoyed. “I told you this would happen.” Q picked up the food and the sticks in a napkin and threw it all in the box. He dabbed a moistened napkin at the smeared mayonnaise and honey mixture the shrimp had trailed on his clothing.

“Here,” said Bond, stifling a stronger laugh, “let me help you.” He poured some water on another napkin and wiped at Q’s jumper where Q had missed a spot.

Q watched him as he wiped away the mess. Bond had leaned in closely to see what he was doing as the only light in the room was coming from the television. He was so close, so real. Q felt like he was looking at his heart’s desire. Nothing could have stopped what happened next. Q said: “James.” It was more of a whisper than a statement; Bond was too close to him for normal volume speech and this moment called for reverence.

They locked eyes and Bond said: “Q.” A dizzy spin of consequences and comeuppance whirled in Bond’s brain as he looked into that flickering face in the television light, so perfect, so helpless, so completely lost.

Almost imperceptibly, each man leaned in.

James wanted to taste Q, to experience the mixed flavors of the food, the tea, and Q himself.

Q wanted to feel those rough hands on his face, feel the stubble around his mouth as he licked his way past Bond’s lips and into the depths beyond.

Suddenly, the room was dark. The DVD was over and only a black screen remained. They could hear each other breathing in the dark. They could hear the honking of a passing car’s horn outside. They could hear the soft rush of the heating system kicking on. Little by little, the light came back to them from the small leak beside the curtain and Bond could make out Q, eyelids slightly fluttering, and his breath so shallow Bond could hear his heart beating inside the rhythm.

“I should start the projector,” said Bond softly.

“If you want,” said Q.

Through superhuman effort, Bond stood and walked around Q to the machine on the table. The moment broken, each man took stock of what had almost happened. Neither one made eye contact with the other as Bond fiddled with the projection system, looking for all the correct switches so that the projection and the audio accompaniment would be in synch with one another.

It only took a minute, but soon the room was filled with stars and maps of constellations as Carl Sagan once again spoke of the universe and the aging of stars. Suns were born above their heads and burst apart as Sagan spoke of the lifespan of our solar system and the galaxy beyond. The little machine provided a bit more light around its base than was entirely necessary, but Q found it handy as it shone along the table and illuminated his notes. He focused on those, his meal and his tempting professor shoved to the back of his awareness by force.

Bond resumed his seat and his meal. That was too damn close for comfort and from the shell shocked look on Q’s face, he could tell that Q had had enough as well. The mouthful he had in his mouth soured at the thought of screwing things up. He swallowed mechanically and pushed away his plate, preferring the taste of tea to help calm his nerves and serve as a balm for his aching soul.

Twenty minutes later, the presentation was at an end and both men sat in silence watching the projector spin the universe above them in a loop. It was rather soothing to watch.

“I’m sorry, Professor Bond,” began Q. “I shouldn’t have-“

“No, Q,” said Bond. “I should be the one apologizing. I’m the one who disregarded rule after rule here. I should have done this in a proper classroom setting. Or perhaps I shouldn’t have done it at all and just let you borrow someone’s notes. Teachers aren’t supposed to get involved with students – even if they are of consenting age. I know better and I’m the one held accountable here should any of this come to light.” He couldn’t look at Q when he added: “I could ruin your future and mine. It’s not worth it. This is all my fault. Please forgive me, Q.”

The silence that followed was a bitter one. Q broke it by reaching for Bond’s hand. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at the man; his eyes were glued to the spinning galaxy above them. Bond gazed at Q for a minute and when he realized that the handhold was not only a silent recognition of their mutual attraction but a sign of forgiveness, he laced his fingers with Q’s and watched as the image spun above in silence. Yet somewhere in the dark of that room and in those few precious moments with Q, Bond heard distinctly the sound of his own heart breaking.


	5. Chapter 5

It couldn’t go on. Bond had to get Q to transfer classes again. It was his issue with Q but it was much easier to move Q than it was to give up the course, so Bond was determined to speak to him at his earliest opportunity.

It was madness. Q was so distracted in class by James that he couldn’t concentrate on the lesson. If he couldn’t perform well in class, he couldn’t pass. If he couldn’t pass, he could kiss MIT goodbye. One failed course and he was out. He had to do something about this sick, twisted feeling of lust in his gut. He had to talk to Bond the first chance he got.

Q hung back at the end of class and watched Bond pack up his things. He deliberately sorted through his loose notes and took his time packing up his laptop to buy the time. He had no idea what he was going to say to him. All he knew was that something had to be done or his future plans were in jeopardy.

Bond saw Q drag his feet about getting packed up but didn’t acknowledge him. He simply put his materials away and tried to focus on the exam he was supposed to be giving in two classes time. He wasn’t even sure what questions he would put on the test, but he had to know before next time, otherwise the kids wouldn’t have the foggiest notion as to what exactly to study-

“Professor Bond?” asked Q.

Bond raised his head and met Q’s concerned gaze. “Q, I-“

“About last night,” said Q.

“Yes… I-“

“I think we should… um-“

“Quite right, Q. You’re quite right. We should-“

“You think so?”

“Of course. It’s the simplest answer.”

“So you don’t mind if we date?”

“What?”

Q looked at Bond for a startled moment and said: “But I thought you said it was a good idea?”

“My idea was that you should transfer out!” said Bond.

“But I can’t do that!” said Q. “It’s too late in the semester for me to catch up. I’ll never pass the class whichever class I go into. I can’t! And I need the sciences credit in order to transfer to MIT! Please!”

“Oh Christ,” said Bond. He looked at Q. “And you want to pursue this?”

“Well, yes,” said Q quietly. “Don’t you?”

“Q,” said Bond with a sigh, “put simply: I can’t. You’re a student. I’m your professor. It would be awful for both of us if we were discovered.”

“Yes, but we won’t be,” said Q confidently.

“How do you know tha- What makes you so sure?” asked Bond.

“I have friends all over campus,” said Q cryptically. “They would understand and they wouldn’t say a thing.”

“I noticed the change in temperature once you walked into my class,” said Bond. “I was wondering what hold you have on people that they either loathe you respectfully or are very chummy. What is that all about?”

“That’s my business,” said Q. “Suffice to say that I have many friends in and around campus and they will do me favors if I ask.”

Bond gave Q a long and evaluating look. For a moment he was tempted to go along with it. Q was just so fucking beautiful. But then, he was living as a professor at a college in the States. He could never tell Q about MI6 or his real purpose here. And if it ever came out, there’s no way that anything could last between them. The statistics of a successful relationship between a member of MI6 and a civilian were next to zero. The statistics of that happening with someone who was a Double-O, forget it. Finally, Bond said: “I can’t even entertain this.”

“But Why?” asked Q. The look of desperation on his face was painful. “As I said: I’ve been giving this some thought since yesterday and I think we’ll be OK. We just have to be discreet and a bit clever. We’ll be fine.” He stepped closely to Bond and set his things on the desk. With a quick glance at the door, Q wrapped his arms around Bond and held him closely. “Please trust me, James.”

James carefully picked Q’s arms off of him. “I can’t, Q,” he said. “and for more reasons than I can even begin to tell you.”

Q blinked in shock. Having nothing more to say, he left the classroom and headed home. Bond watched him go with a mixture of relief and agony.

 

~080~

 

“Well,” said Lita, “we meet again.” She grinned at Bond from under her blue-tipped fringe. She stood in the corridor just outside his office holding a three-ring binder in her hand and a bank money bag in the other. “Just making my rounds for the annual Christmas donation. Professor Gallman’s in charge this year and he’s asked me to take up the collection end. Check or cash? Every little bit helps.” She smiled at me like a cat with cream.

“What’s the charity?” he asked, unlocking his door. It hadn’t escaped his observation that she was doing this on a Friday when most professors had already gone home for the weekend. She was here for him. He grinned to himself.

“Feeding the homeless,” she replied. She shook the bag. Coins jingled inside. “Professor Grimes was a smart ass and paid me in quarters. I could kill someone with this thing.” She stood just outside the threshold and leaned on the jamb, watching him set down his briefcase on the desk. Her eyes traveled down to the curve of his arse and he caught her staring. She had the decency to blush and smile shyly.

Bond smiled at her. “Very well,” he said, digging in his back pocket for his wallet. “How much is minimum?”

“No minimum,” she said, backing up into the corridor as he approached, “although I will judge you harshly if you pay me with money that makes noise.”

Bond chuckled and handed her two twenties. “I hope that will be a decent donation,” he said.

She took the cash and jotted down his donation amount in the binder. “It’s decent enough,” she said. “Thanks. I’m sure this will make more than one homeless person very happy.” She stepped closer to him. She was tall enough to reach his chin for a kiss but with her elevated boots, she was more than tall enough to reach his mouth. She kissed him quickly and smiled at her irreverence.

Bond had anticipated something like this, but wasn’t too bothered about it. After all, she was a student, but not his student and she had kissed him and he was still feeling sexually frustrated about Q and she was there and warm and inviting and…

In the end, he didn’t have to do anything but stand there; Lita took the initiative. She snaked both arms around his shoulders and snogged him properly. He fell into it like a man in a dream; his hands found their way to her hips and he opened his mouth for her tongue. He was tempted to close his eyes and lose himself in her taste, but the truth was, she was a poor substitute for what he really desired. His eyes fell to half mast as she eagerly kissed and probed his mouth.

At one point, she turned her head in the kiss and winked over his shoulder. Bond knew that she was winking at the camera behind him. Panic struck him that she was in cahoots with the person or persons responsible for spying on him all over campus, that she was somehow a sleeper cell and that whatever spook she was working for was trying to blackmail him or distract him or worse.

He attempted not to startle Lita when he slowly backed into his office, taking her with him and never breaking her kiss. He closed the door gently.

Lita’s head hit the wall with sudden and immediate impact. “Who the hell are you?” demanded Bond. His forearm was across her throat and he kept up just enough pressure to prevent her from suffocating. His leg was between hers to deter a literal knee-jerk reaction and his other hand had both her wrists pinned against her stomach in seconds. The moneybag and binder were cast to the floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” she croaked.

“Who are you? How do you know about that camera?” asked Bond. He wished to hell he had his Walther on him but it was in the desk drawer opposite. If he was quick enough, he could probably get to it and get back to the door before she could get there and escape. He also didn’t want her to know that he knew about the other cameras. He wanted to find out how deep she was in.

“What the hell is this?” she said as she attempted to wriggle from his grasp.

“Who the hell do you work for?” Bond repeated slowly, venomously. “I won’t ask again.”

“I work for Professor Gallman,” she answered, mystified. “You’re hurting me!”

He could see the panic in her eyes. He didn’t release his hold. It could mean his life. “That’s not who you work for. I want to know who’s on the other side of that camera and I want to know now. Tell me, Lita. Tell me who’s spying on me.”

“Wha-“ she hesitated. Bond knew he was on the right track; he saw the flicker of shock cross her face. “Jesus… Q,” she said. “You know Q. He’s a student in your class.” Bond let her go and stepped back. He couldn’t breathe. Lita coughed and held her throat. He locked the door and sat on his desk, still attempting to make his brain associate that sweet boy with what Lita was saying. Of course, whoever was their boss was dead clever; if Bond didn’t go for one, he’s go for the other.

The cut of betrayal was deep. He looked at her menacingly as she shrank further into the corner, uncertain as to what to do. Her eyes darted from Bond to the locked door. She was estimating her chances. “Tell me more about Q,” he asked her softly.

“Q?” she asked. He could see her brain clicking away and he wondered if the next words out of her mouth would be a lie. Probably.

“He’s got a thing about watching people,” she breathed. “He- he started doing it when we first got here. Always had a dream of transferring out to MIT. Said he was just insuring that things go his way. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” said Bond, not buying a word. He had to know more. He asked: “So there’s more than just the one camera on campus?” She nodded. “And he keeps track of all the professors’ comings and goings with them all over the property?”

“And in the town,” she admitted. Bond shook his head in disbelief. She added: “But honestly, it was all just for insurance. As soon as he transfers, we’re taking them all down. We swear.”

“And I suppose in your off-hours you also like to peek in on the students of this campus too,” said Bond. “And perhaps the townspeople as well.”

“S-sometimes,” she said weakly. “But like I said: Q mostly did it because he wanted assurances about his MIT transfer. The student and town thing was just a bonus.”

“So he’s blackmailing professors,” said Bond.

“Well no,” said Lita. “He’s just keeping tabs.”

Bond’s eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t have to worry about his marks in my class. He hasn’t been there long enough. Why did you wink at the camera when you kissed me?”

Lita blushed a deep crimson. “We have a… a bet,” she said and winced.

“A bet?” said Bond. This was too ridiculous a statement to be a falsehood. Bond’s instincts were going haywire. “Are you joking?”

“No,” said Lita and quickly added: “but we didn’t mean any harm. Hell, if anything, we were just looking for a bit of fun.” She smiled hopefully at him. “We weren’t trying to get you in trouble or anything. I swear!”

Bond looked at her stupidly. “I was a bet?” His pride was wounded. He thought Q actually liked him and now it was all a farce. Or was it? She could still be playing him. His instinct was to shoot her and bury her deep in the high hills, but it was still daylight and the campus was obviously crawling with Q’s cameras. There would be no quiet disposal of a body.

“Yeah,” she said sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Curious, Bond asked: “What were the stakes of this bet?”

“I had to give up my personal finances to Q’s control,” said Lita. “And if I succeeded, Q would have to give up his spy cameras for the remainder of the school year.”

“And that’s it?” said Bond. It seemed harmless enough, but Bond was still on edge.

What do you mean “is that it”?” she asked, incredulous. “That’s plenty for the two of us!” She straightened her blouse in her indignation, then asked: “How did you figure that that was a camera anyway? Most people don’t bother to look at what appears to be a smoke detector.”

“I’m really into alarm systems,” said Bond. “Call it a hobby.”

Lita didn’t know what to do with this information and simply blinked at Bond. After a pause, she asked: “Can I go now?”

“That depends,” said Bond.

“On what?” she asked.

“Two things: first, what are you going to tell campus security? And second, what are you going to tell Q?” said Bond.

“Well,” she said, rubbing her neck and thinking. “I don’t know.”

“You could have me reported for assault,” he said. “I’d be kicked off campus and my career destroyed over a bet.”

“Yeah,” she said. “But the question is: how do I prove it? I mean, I’ll probably have bruises tomorrow. I could go to the president and bitch, I suppose. But it’ll still be my word against yours. We can’t exactly use the camera feed.”

Bond couldn't help but be impressed with her logic. "You're a sensible girl, Lita. Wait. So Q records all of these camera-captured events?” asked Bond. His curiosity was piqued.

“Well, yeah,” she said, “otherwise what would be the point?”

Bond eyed her. There was a slight curve to his lip as he thought of something genius. Trouble was, he didn’t know if he could completely trust these two idiots. They were both too young to be that good at being spooks. Plus, he would rather preserve his cover and be seen as a dirty professor than out himself as MI6. He really shouldn't even be in the country.

“What?” she asked, seeing his expression.

“Lita,” he said, his demeanor softened, “how about I buy you dinner?”

“Huh?” she asked. “Listen, if you’re trying to angle for a quick grope in the back of your Chevy, you’ve got another-“

Bond held up a hand. “First of all, I don’t own a Chevy. Second: my car doesn’t have enough of a back seat for that kind of activity. And third: charming as you are, you’re really not my type.”

“So you are gay,” she said.

“When the opportunity presents itself,” he said.

“What does that mean?” said Lita.

“It means that Q wins the damn bet,” said Bond and he stood, buttoned his jacket, and held out his arm for her to take. “Shall we?”

 

~080~

 

Q tried not to be sick as Lita winked at him on the monitor. And when Bond guided her into his office, his beaker of tea hit the floor, spilling the liquid and cracking the orange cup. He turned off the computer monitor and went to his room, slammed the door shut, and threw himself on the mattress.

Tears welled in his eyes and he shook with rage. The audacity of the man to turn him down and in his next action do that with Lita… it was hateful. Bond behaved as if he were ashamed of Q, ashamed of having feelings for him. And there were feelings; Q was certain of it.

He sat up immediately and looked about. Deciding something, he tore out of his room and began ripping out the power cords from his computer display. The whole thing was on a reinforced desk with casters on the bottom, so he wheeled it into his tiny bedroom and set everything up against the wall. Then he went back out into the sitting room and took the spare key to his bedroom door lock off the nail inside the linen cupboard and went back to his room. He slammed the door once more and locked it, bracing a chair up against the doorknob for extra protection.

Once the monitors were all up and running again, he took the cameras offline and began to hack using his off-site server. The server itself was housed in London at his father’s company. It was separate from the other servers on site, but his father indulged his son’s affinity for technology when he was younger and the server became his untitled property because of all the hard work he put into maintaining it when he was in school. When he left for the states, it went dormant, but Q woke it up inside of a few keystrokes. Then he began to back-build; he threaded himself through Sri Lanka, New Delhi, Dhaka, and sixty-seven other cities and countries all over the globe.

Once his security protocols were in place, he focused in on James Bond. He did a complete trace of his name, drawing what he could from the files in the personnel office of the college. The first thing determined was that his teaching resume didn’t check out. And when his NHS number came up as false, Q leaned back from the keyboard and felt a knot building in his stomach.

He hacked past the local airport security firewalls to gain access to the airport monitors and traced back. Using the facial recognition software that he designed, Q was able to filter airport security camera database information for a two week time frame through the software. It took the better part of two hours to locate Bond’s first appearance at the airport, but once he did, he saw the man who greeted him and captured his image. Then he ran that through the local law enforcement backdoor he had as well as the hack through to the FBI. Whoever he was, Q determined to find out if he had so much as a parking ticket.

Langley paid off first. And Q knew that he was in deep shit.

The only conclusion was that Bond was MI6.

Lita.

Q had to get her away from him. He opened up his cams and back-tracked the database to the timestamp of Lita’s meeting up with Bond. It wasn’t twenty minutes later that she left with him, arm in arm. She looked slightly shaken as they made their way to his car and he traced them to a restaurant in town. According to his cam timestamps, they were there for a total of two hours until they left and were headed for…

There was the sound of a key in Q's front door.

“Q?” she called. He heard her mumble something to someone. Dear God, did she bring him in? Q stood and looked from his bedroom door to his computer and back again in complete uncertainty and terror. Lita had little concept of what MI6 was about. But it didn’t explain his presence on campus. Why would an MI6 agent teach at a college for a cover? Q wanted to ask Bond, but wasn’t sure if he’d be shot for his trouble.

Lita knocked at his door. “Q?” she called again, this time softer. “Q, there’s someone here who wants to talk with you.”

Q knew who that someone was without even guessing. He was still uncertain as to what to do or say, so to stall, he called: “I’ll be right out.”

He sat back at his computer and shut everything down furiously and as fast as he could. Screens one through four each shut down in turn and Q covered them with a clean bed sheet from the top of his closet. As soon as the sheet settled in, he turned and faced the door with trepidation. His palms were clammy; his heart was in his throat. Carefully, he pulled the chair from under the doorknob and unlocked his door. He took a deep breath and turned the handle.

Bond sat on the sofa as calm and composed as ever. Out of the corner of his eye to his left he saw Lita mopping up his spilled tea. “Sorry about that, Lita,” he said, suddenly feeling bad that she was cleaning his mess.

“Where’s your computer, Q?” asked Bond.

Q met Bond’s cool gaze with panic all over his face. “What?” he asked stupidly. “What computer?’

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Lita told me you have a great deal of skill with a computer,” he said. “And I can see from all of the dust that you had something rather large sitting right there where your tea spilled. I hope your equipment wasn’t damaged.”

“Hm?” said Q, looking over at the rather obvious dust void that his furniture-moving had left behind, “oh… yes… no damage. There was no damage at all. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Lita was staring at him as though he had three heads. “I’ve told him everything, Q. There’s no need to worry about it. I even told him about the bet.”

Q spun on Lita. “You what?”

“Now Q,” said Bond, “don’t be angry with Lita. She was simply telling me about how clever you are and how concerned for your future you are. We talked all about it at dinner. Surely, you know I took Lita to dinner? Right?”

“Well… I-“ began Q.

“As I thought,” said Bond. “Lita also tells me that you’ve got eyes on pretty much everyone in town.”

“Well… you see-“ began Q again.

“Nevermind, Q,” said Bond. “It’s alright. But I would like to see your computer for myself, if I may.”

“Why? So you can destroy it?” accused Q. He was past the point of being reasonable now. Lita had unwittingly disclosed his biggest secret to a fucking agent of MI6 and she was stooping there quietly cleaning up tea when he was standing there freaking out over the fact that Bond could kill the both of them at any fucking moment and why wasn’t she more nervous? It was maddening.

“Q!” said Lita crossly.

“On the contrary,” said Bond. “I want to utilize it.”

“What?” said Q.

“I’m prepared to pay you handsomely for it,” said Bond. “My parents died a bit well-to-do and I have enough to spare for two poor college students. There’s no risk to you.”

“I don’t understand,” said Q.

“I want to pay you for information about a couple of the professors on campus,” said Bond, “namely: Bennett and Glaros.”

“Why them?” asked Q.

“My reasons are my own,” said Bond. “Suffice to say that I’m not as ambivalent about ambition as I appear to be.”

“And if I don’t help you?” asked Q defiantly.

Bond shrugged. “Then you go your way and I’ll go mine,” he said. “But don’t be too surprised when the campus police go looking for excess smoke detectors in every building around campus.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Q.

Bond raised an eyebrow again. It was an expression Q was finding quite irritating. “Try me,” said Bond.

“I’ll simply release the-“ said Q, but he stopped himself mid-threat. He couldn’t release anything he taped with his cams without alerting the college that he had those cams in the first place. Everything he had planned for four years would be ruined.

Bond saw this realization cross Q’s face and he smiled. “Sorry,” he said, “but I’m afraid I have you checked and mated.”

Q’s shoulders slumped and Lita was beside him. “But you’re still going to pay us, yeah?” she chirped. “I mean, it’s not a total loss, right?”

“Exactly,” said Bond, “two hundred dollars a day, per person, as agreed.”

Q looked at Lita and back to Bond. “Give her money to me,” he said. Lita looked at him shocked and was about to object when Q cut her off: “Telling him about the bet ends the competition and therefore you lose.” He turned back to Bond. “I’ll take her cut.”

Bond grinned at Q. He really did like the boy. He got up and crossed to the pair of them. He opened his wallet and pulled out four hundred dollars, placing it in Q’s hand. “Monitoring begins tonight,” he said. And, feeling cheeky, he kissed Q on the mouth quickly before winking at Lita and leaving the apartment.

 

~080~

 

Q sat in front of his monitors and stared at the images of two slumbering households: Glaros and Bennett. He called up what pages he had managed to save of his earlier investigations and shook his head. There was something else going on here. There was a bigger reason that Bond wanted Q to watch these two. What was it?

Q opened up into his off-site server again and backlogged himself through one hundred and twenty-seven cities this time. If anyone was going to track him, he wanted to have plenty of lead time to cover his tracks. He searched anything and everything to do with Cosima Glaros. Short of sneaking an extra dessert that she didn’t pay for at the campus dining hall and three unpaid parking tickets outside two different businesses in town and one in the city, there was nothing of significance about her, her husband, or their children.

She was the picture of innocence -- unless you counted that charge on her Visa from last month. It was a steep payment for something that sounded like a comic book shop purchase, so Q searched the name of the company. It wasn’t a comic book shop. The individual line-item purchase was easy to hack and trace, the items listed were obviously pornographically related. Q wondered if one of Cosima’s sons had managed to sneak off with his mum’s credit card and run up a tab at a local porn shop. He traced the company through her Visa to see if there was any repeat in the charge. Every three months, there was a new charge. The bill looked well-maintained; never quite fully paid off, but a balance that was under control. Q smiled to himself as he jotted down a note in a notepad program that Cosima’s only curiosity was a visit to the local dungeon for a quarterly Dom/sub session. To Q, she really didn’t seem the Masochistic/ Sadistic type.

Q turned his attention to Bennett. Nothing of significance came up in the immediate past, but soon Q was buried in stories of the IRA from the 70’s. Q shook his head; he should have guessed.

He looked over to the monitor where Bennett’s house was. The car was still in the drive; the lights were still off. He would have to look to see what after-market listening devices he could buy and soup up for this assignment. He grinned at the thought of helping MI6. It was almost a patriotic feeling.

“How proud of me are you, Mr. Bond?” said Q softly to the room.

In his head, Bond was behind him, reclining on his bed, watching him work away with that small soft grin on his face. Q turned to face the bed. In his mind’s eye he could see that beautiful, now dangerous, man and all his taught muscle. Q ran a fingertip over his lips remembering Bond’s quick kiss. Had he known it was coming, and had he not been terrified witless at the time, he would have grabbed that man and made it a kiss that counted. For fuck’s sake! It’s not as if the man were a real teacher!

 _Oh Christ,_ thought Q _, he’s not a real teacher!_

Q threw himself on his bed, deliriously happy. He would have laughed out loud if he didn’t think he would wake Lita. He ran his hands down over his chest, scooped up the edge of his shirt and pulled it off in one smooth motion. The shirt landed on the floor as he flung it out but Q didn’t care. His nipples were hard in the cool of the room and he played with one while the other hand palmed at his trousers. “Oh Mr. Bond,” said Q playfully to the agent in his fantasy, “if that is your real name…” He chuckled to himself. “Oh God how I want you to fuck me.”

He reached into his bedside drawer for some lube. He hadn’t fingered himself in ages, but he wanted to desperately tonight. He wondered if Bond was up for a round as well. He stood and went to the computer. Leaning over the back of the chair, he typed in the codes and brought up Bond’s home.

Q gasped audibly as he saw Bond standing stark naked in front of his bay window, lights on, and staring directly into the camera. He knew. _He fucking knew_.

Q watched him open-mouthed as the man ran a hand over his torso and across his own nipples. His other hand held his penis and he was using nothing but his fingertips to gently massage himself hard. Q felt a cool drop of something wet hit the back of his hand and he was startled to realize that he was drooling. He wiped his mouth quickly, watching Bond slowly stimulate himself, seemingly for Q’s eyes only.

Q wanted to let him know that he was watching. He wanted Bond to know that what he was doing was being appreciated. Q typed in a command for the camera to swivel its focus up the street and then back to Bond. Once it regained its focus on the agent, Q saw Bond grin and close his eyes. He began to stroke harder.

Q was instantly hard. For the first time ever, someone was comfortable with him watching them. Someone approved. Someone _accepted_ him.

Q stripped his trousers and pants off and stood there, dick in one hand, lube in the other, mesmerized by Bond’s display for him. He wanted to hold off, to watch Bond cum and then replay it while he finally masturbated, but he didn’t think he had that kind of stamina. Not with an agent of MI6 who looked that damn good naked.

He put some lube on his hand and began to stroke himself softly, the way Bond did it. He wanted to feel what it would be like to have that man wrap his warm hand around his cock and tease him to distraction. Bond pulled at his foreskin; Q did the same and discovered that he found it erotic in the extreme. He had never thought to pull away and just rub the ends of the skin together. It sent a sensation through him that he never knew his body could produce.

His knees were going to collapse if he continued this way. He sat down in the chair and focused on what Bond was doing, mimicking his actions so he could feel what Bond was feeling. Fingertips ran over nipples and along scrotum, behind thighs and over belly. Q’s breathing stuttered and panted with the efforts and the sensations. Electricity spat out of his every touch as Bond continued to guide him to his fulfillment.

Q was getting close, but Bond seemed determined to make it last. Q didn’t want to cum before Bond, but he wasn’t sure he could hang on. His toes curled against the carpet and he felt his balls tighten. “Please,” he whispered to Bond who was actively fucking his fist and staring at Q, his body tilted to the side to show the power of his thrust, the strain of his muscles, the curve of his arse.

Q pushed himself away from the computer interface and sat back a bit more to finger his arsehole with a lubed up hand. His other hand pumped at his slick cock as one finger slid quickly in. He wanted Bond so badly that there was hardly any resistance in the muscle. Q’s head lolled back as he felt for his prostate. As soon as he grazed it, he looked back at the monitors to see Bond throwing his head back and (Q could read) crying out Q’s name. Soon, Bond’s hand was coated in spunk and Q knew he had to cum.

With a curve of his finger, he was thrown into ecstasy and in the next moment, James’ name on his lips, fresh cum spurted over his hand and stomach. He lay there twitching in the cool of the room for many minutes as he watched Bond wipe himself with a towel, get in bed, clearly say: “Goodnight, Q”, and turn off his light.

Q smiled. Oh he was really going to enjoy working for MI6.


	6. Chapter 6

Q awoke to the sound of the shower running. The pipes in the house rattled something awful the colder it got and as the year crept out of wet autumn and into bone-chilling winter, certain days were colder than others. This was one of those. Q squinted at his bedroom windows edged in frost and blinked himself awake. He was still naked from the evening before under his duvet and three of his monitors displayed activity. Bond was no longer in his bedroom but showering, shower curtain pulled closed god damn him. Glaros was shooing her oldest boy off into the cold morning so he could board the bus for high school. Bennett was getting in his car and driving away. Q dressed quickly in some sweats, a t-shirt with a heavier button-down flannel shirt over it, and heavy socks as he made his way over to the monitors and toggled the image on Bennett so that the cameras would follow his path to the gates of the college. On Barker Street Bennett made a left instead of a right. That was odd.

He sat and focused fully on where Bennett was going. He took down the images of Glaros and Bond, all four monitors giving him full scope of directions and vantage points. Bennett was heading toward the Honors Building. He parked his car, looked about, and walked to the door, attaché case in hand.

Q tapped a few more keys and the whole of the house appeared on all of his monitors. He saw Bennett staring at his notice about the new detectors and a wave of panic hit him as Bennett looked directly into his camera in the foyer of the house. The camera image was black and white, but Q could have sworn the man went pale and his eyes goggled. Bennett tore off-screen only to show up on the sitting room cam, through that room to appear in the upper corner of the kitchen cam. He was doing something in front of the pantry door.

But it wasn’t a pantry. It was locked. Why hadn’t his team noticed that? Bennett was unlocking it hurriedly and seemingly panicked as he dropped the keys and then his attaché. There were stairs on the other side of the door that led downward. Oh bugger, thought Q. We missed the cellar.

Q waited for five long minutes before realizing that he was biting his thumbnail down almost to the quick. Why was the cellar door locked? Certainly for safety; perhaps even for storage and security of said storage. It was entirely possible that some of Bennett’s personal possessions would be down there: after all, he wouldn’t have to pay for a storage space; there would be no paper trail. And now that Q was aware of Bennett’s history with the IRA, he fully expected that it would make him one paranoid motherfucker.

Ten minutes rolled by. There seemed to be no movement at all. The door was closed behind Bennett when he went in. A light shone just underneath the door and reflected off the lino, but there was no shadow from it to signal that Bennett was coming back up the stair.

Q pulled up the exterior of the house. Unfortunately, he hadn’t the foresight to expect this discrepancy in his surveillance. He had only placed external monitors at the front and back of the house. From what he could tell, there were windows on the structure’s cellar, but only on the sides of the building. There was nothing for it: he and his team would have to go back. If Bond wanted to know about what was going on with this guy, he was going to provide as much intel as he could to the agent. Q smiled to himself at the thrill of helping MI6 capture a former IRA agent. The adrenaline rush alone was making him horny.

The kitchen monitor still displayed the same image twenty minutes after Bennett entered. No shadows, no change in the light; there was nothing to signify that anything had moved from when last he looked. Q’s imagination ran wild with various scenarios, but all of them held a common theme: Bennett’s building a bomb.

Q jumped at a knock at his door. “Hey! Are you going to class today?” asked Lita from the other side of his door. She knew better than to barge in on him. They had known each other for too long to make such selfish mistakes.

“Not today,” said Q. And he meant it. There was no way he was leaving this computer at all today. Not until he found out what Bennett was up to. Perhaps he could plant the monitors himself? But no, he’d need access inside and he didn’t know how to pick a lock.

“Seriously?” asked Lita. “Because I thought you had said something about having to go to your business writing class this morning. Something about a test you had to pass?”

“FUCK!” said Q. He abandoned his post and opened the door to Lita’s startled expression. “Professor Sanders is going to kill me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Lita. “Just go to him during office hours, tell him you overslept and take it then. Besides, you’re busy with your paid assignment.” She attempted to peer around his door to get a look at his computer display.

“Lita,” said Q in a warning voice and pulling the door closer to him. She frowned at him. “Besides, this is a bigger problem. It’s not a test. It’s three papers that I’ve forgotten to write. They’re due today. And don’t tell me to ask for an extension because today’s due date was the extension.”

“Oh. You are fucked,” she agreed. “What are you going to do?”

“Fucking fail, I suppose,” said Q. He looked around the door at his monitors. There was still no change.

“No, you won’t,” she said. “You’re a genius, Q. You can type three lousy papers for him. You can do it with your eyes closed.” She patted him on the arm and smiled. He returned a weak grin. “What time’s your class?”

“Ten,” he said.

“Ok then,” she said. “It’s only half seven now. You’ve got time.”

“But what the fuck will I write about?” asked Q, not necessarily looking for an answer from her.

“Write about Professor Bond,” she smirked. “Write him some smut. That’ll shut Sanders up.”

Q couldn’t help but smile. “That’ll get me expelled.” He shook his head. “I’ll think of something. Thanks.”

“Oh cheer up, frowny-pants,” said Lita. “Put the cameras on record and get to writing!”

Q heard the front door slam as he stared at the monitors, hands on his hips. He tapped the keys to bring up the kitchen, the foyer, the front exterior, and the back exterior and then gave the command to record. He then tapped the power buttons on all four screens and opened his laptop on his bed. His espionage fantasies would have to wait until his real life obligations were seen to.

 

~080~

 

The morning began with a threat of rain that became a reality once Q was halfway to Bond’s house. He had worn a raincoat, but it did little to shelter him from the torrent that was currently pouring from the heavens. By the time he got to Bond’s and was huddled in the shelter of the small overhang of his front doorstep, he was soaking wet. His fringe clung to his face, his fingertips were wrinkly and his jeans were sopping especially at the ankles. He could feel the inelegant squish of water in his socks as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He only hoped that his laptop had survived the journey, but that was enveloped securely in the carry case slung over his shoulder and was in much better nick than the well-worn raincoat.

He saw the curtain move in the window just over from the door and in the next second, Q was smiling up at Bond apologetically. “Hello,” he said, suddenly realizing that he was there for reasons that he could have phoned Bond about; perhaps he shouldn’t have come. But then, why he was there was pretty damned important.

“Q,” said Bond, “come in! You’ll catch your death!” He held the door open and pushed the screen door outward for Q to use.

“I’m sorry,” began Q. “I didn’t mean to disturb you at home, only you’re paying me to do a job and well… I want to feel as though I’ve earned the money.” Q was actually quite relieved to find that Bond was still at home once he had made his delivery to Professor Sanders of his overdue coursework. By the time he had a chance to review the information he had recorded on the cams (most of it boring, a part of it downright thrilling and intriguing), he had thought he might have missed the man completely. There was no telling where Bond could have gone as he had no classes that day and if he left his home, it might have taken Q the better part of the rest of the day to locate him.

Bond was more distressed about Q’s appearance to pay much attention. He threw him a non-committal “Hmm,” as he attempted to divest Q of his rain-drenched coat.

Q squinted through his water spotted glasses and allowed Bond to unsnap and unzip the mac. He removed his computer bag and tried to continue his conversation as Bond stripped him of his coat and hung it in the closet behind him. “I mean, since you gave me the task and all… I thought you might want to know what I found out.”

“I want to know whatever it is you want to tell me, Q,” said Bond. He carded a strong warm hand backward through Q’s fringe, causing it to slick back for a moment, only for it to reverse course and slowly slide back over either side of his face. Bond couldn’t help himself; he stepped closer to Q and in a low voice said: “You’re so wet.” He slid a hand to the back of Q’s neck. The skin there was cold and Q shivered with the touch. “Your collar’s wet too. How did that happen?”

“I never know. The coat’s old,” said Q breathlessly as he stared at Bond, “Perhaps there’s a tear in the material.”

Bond offered him an understanding smile and raised a finger before his eyes. “Wait here,” he said. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He went upstairs and returned with a towel in one hand and a bathrobe in the other. “Strip,” he said.

“Sorry?” asked Q.

“You heard me,” said Bond.

This was altogether too surreal, but he found that despite his hesitation, his fingers had already begun pulling off his flannel shirt. Bond set the robe and towel on the banister at the bottom of the stair, the finial holding them in place and turned, walking off to Q’s left, making for the fire in the fireplace. As Q continued to strip to his smalls, he watched Bond’s muscular back as he stoked the flames back to life and added another couple of logs to the fire.

It would have been simple to fall into the fantasy of domesticity with that beautiful man, but Q had to remind himself that he now shared the same room with someone he suspected of being a spy for the British government and, while he himself was British, that didn’t mean that Bond wouldn’t hesitate to take his life based on how much he knew. Practically naked in nothing but his pants and a soft bathrobe, towel draped over his head for a quick scrub through his dripping hair, Q had never felt so absolutely vulnerable.

Q was draping the towel around the back of his neck when Bond asked: “Tea?”

“Earl Grey if you’ve got it,” smiled Q. That was a touch of English hospitality and Q had missed it so. But the threat of imminent death was still there. His mind wandered: death and tea with a smile; how very Agatha Christie.

“Right,” said Bond. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”

Despite his trepidation, Q soon found himself in a corner of heaven: his laptop perched on his knee, seated on Bond’s sofa, the warmth of the fire heating his skin, the warmth of the tea heating his belly. He was completely contented. Bond had seated himself opposite Q and was watching as Q called up the various articles he had saved so that he could easily present it to Bond. After a few minutes Q cleared his throat and began: “First of all, I would like to say that I love computer programming. I sometimes think in code. My whole life I’ve been fascinated with computers and the way they work. I was more than a little good at it, always; I was, as Lita so aptly describes it, crazy good at it.

“More to be precise rather than uncharitable, my parents are not. Let’s just put it down to the fact that I’m a later-in-life baby and they really were never that tech savvy. If it wasn’t for me, they would still not know how to operate a VCR, never mind anything more complex.” Q gave Bond a small smile and their eyes locked for a moment before Q cleared his voice and continued again.

“So you see, I was always the strange one in our small family. I was the one who could navigate the inner-workings of practically any system and come up with at least eight different ways to improve it. I could put a computer together out of scrap, develop the programming, and manage to run circles around anything my father’s security company could even begin to come up with. He had an entire IT department, but when I visited, it was as though I were in charge of it as the director would come to me for advice and tips. It was rather ridiculous as he should have had some idea of how to do his job, but I seemed to always be the one with the answers. That’s how dad came to give me my own server in his company; one that was separate from all the others on his network. Not that that mattered, of course. I could still hack into his systems if I chose.” Q took a deep breath before continuing on.

“In fact, hacking has become somewhat of a hobby. I discovered back doors to pretty much everything; even gave myself passing grades in PE class when I was in school. I got better as time went by; I began developing programs that were bits and pieces of every other security program I came across and incorporated a few ideas of my own. I’ve developed quite the security protocol on my server, should anyone attempt to hack it. I’m pretty proud of that. At this stage, I really don’t need MIT for the education, but more that I’m always curious to see what the best and brightest are into so I have an idea where the future’s going and to be ahead of the curve. And MIT’s the place for that.” He fairly beamed at Bond and the other man couldn’t help but smile back.

“You want to check out the competition, in other words,” said Bond. Q smiled and nodded.

“So you see, I feel very confident in my skills. I knew you wanted to watch Bennett and Glaros, but after sitting there for hours last night, I decided to do some investigating on them. You know, routine things: parking tickets, credit card receipts… international arrest records.” Bond sat up a bit.

“Which brings me to what I’m about to ask you.” Bond narrowed his eyes and waited.

“You’re MI6, aren’t you?” asked Q.

There was a pause. Q could see Bond calculating and processing; his eyes dulled over for a moment and then just stared. Q couldn’t see Bond go tense, but the feeling of it crackled in the air between them.

“You tried to hack _me_?” Bond asked.

I-I’m sorry,” stammered Q. “If you are MI6 I swear I won’t tell a soul. Not even Lita and she’s my best mate.”

Bond didn’t say anything. He rose from his chair and crossed the room to sit by Q. He snaked an arm around his shoulders. Leaning in closely enough for his warm breath to kiss Q’s skin and make him shiver, he said: “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” Q looked down Bond’s torso and caught a glimpse of the butt of a gun.

Q closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He gave it a moment before looking into Bond’s eyes. The two men were so close, Q almost bumped into Bond’s nose with his own. “You realize that if it’s true, this means that you’re not really my professor,” whispered Q.

“Mmm,” agreed Bond. “You also realize that if it’s true, I could just take what I want from you and kill you afterwards.”

“r-right,” said Q, his voice quivering a little, "just so we have an understanding. Glad we cleared that up.”

“But as you say, you have very effective security protocols,” said Bond.

“I do,” said Q. “There are perhaps six people in the world who can hack past my programming.”

“And you’re certain that one of those six isn’t me?” asked Bond.

“Now why would MI6 send a computer expert after a former member of the IRA?” asked Q. “Surely they would send an assassin instead.”

Bond’s gaze travelled to Q’s mouth, down his neck, over his chest, and back again. A small smile played on his lips. “Too bad I can’t confirm or deny anything you’re asking or telling me,” he said. “I mean, it’s a fantastic story, Q: spies, IRA operatives, assassination plots. You really have quite an imagination.”

“But I never imagined Bennett’s history,” said Q. “See.” With a few keystrokes, he called up the articles and photos he had recovered from MI5.

Bond looked at them with concern. He turned to Q. “Holy shit,” he said. “You hacked _MI5_?”

“I told you,” said Q. “I’m very good.”

“Crazy good,” said Bond. After a moment he added: “I think MI6 need to talk with you.”

“What are you saying?” Q asked.

Bond gave Q an evaluating stare. “You want to be at the forefront of technology and security, right?” Q nodded. “Right.” There was another long stare. “Stay here. I need to make a call.” Bond disappeared up the stairs for several minutes during which time Q could hear him talking to someone. He couldn’t make out the words and he didn’t dare get up to listen at the foot of the stairs for fear that Bond would simply shoot him and have done with it.

By the time Q had managed to take his third calming deep breath, Bond sauntered down the stairs with a smile on his face. “You have been a very naughty boy, Q,” he said.

“What? Why?” asked Q.

“I gave my… friends your name. They couldn’t find anything on you. I had them search high and low for a man with your last name, owner of a security company. There isn’t one.” Bond sat down on the sofa quite close to Q. “The only “Boothroyd” that could be found was a Major Geoffrey Boothroyd, Royal Marine. Deceased.”

“Y-yes,” said Q. “That was my grandfather. I was named for him.”

“And who are you again?” asked Bond.

“Look,” said Q. “One of my father’s company’s best selling points is the fact that they provide completely secure services. He routinely gives out all of his personal information to potential clients and challenges them to have their people try and trace him, to steal his identity. No one can. That’s how the program was designed. I should know: I designed it.”

Bond blinked. This was highly disturbing. If Q wanted to, he could effectively disappear. Beyond the scope of his enrollment at Gold Hill College, TSS couldn’t come up with anything on him: no credit, no bill statements, nothing. Bond’s paranoia was at an all-time high. He didn’t know whether to trust Q or shoot him and transmit everything on his laptop to TSS. It was times like this when he had to trust his gut. TSS and M both warned him that Q was a risk and using him as an asset would likely get him exposed, if not killed. As it was, Bond estimated that he was on an extraction mission against a clock. As far as he was concerned, the likelihood of bullets flying in this instance was negligible at best and if he suspected Q of being fucking brilliant, well… he certainly had his proof now. “Why not just go work for your father’s company, Q?” asked Bond.

“And live by his rules for the rest of my life?” asked Q. “No thank you!”

Bond chuckled. “Right then,” he said. “What I’m about to tell you remains in this house.”

Q sat up. “Agreed,” he said.

“My name is James Bond. I am an agent for MI6. And you, Geoffrey Boothroyd… Q… are my asset on this assignment. I have been given no authorization to inform you of all this and you will only be told what you need to know as you need to know it, but as of now, consider yourself in the employ of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”

Q swallowed hard and took a breath. “Jumping Jesus, this is really happening,” he said. Bond nodded. “And you want Bennett for…? Or is that classified?”

“I’m afraid it is,” said Bond. “All you need to do is track his movements and report them to me.”

Q hesitated for a moment as his brain clicked over. “Oh! I have something for you. Here.” He tapped on his computer and called up the images he had captured along with the time stamps. He narrated to the images, explaining to Bond about Bennett acting shifty and heading toward the cellar of the Honors Building. He skipped ahead and played the recording forty-six minutes later of another student coming to the Honors Building and knocking at the door. Bennett greeted her and they went into the cellar together. “She’s an honors Chemistry major, Stacey Harrigan. No idea what they’re doing in the cellar still, but whatever it is involves her quite a bit as she’s down there with him for more than two hours. Only then does she come back up with him and they lock the door and leave.”

Bond watched the images with great interest but said nothing. He set the laptop off of Q’s knees and onto the coffee table. “Can you save these on a USB for me?”

“I can do better than that,” offered Q. “I can transmit them directly to whatever secure line you want me to. I can even encode the images. Just let me know when and where. I’ll upload them there in seconds.”

Bond grinned; his instincts about Q hadn’t let him down. “Good,” he said. “That’s sorted then.” Lightning struck loudly above them and the lights flickered. It was still the afternoon, but because of the gloom outside, the house was rendered unusually dark. “I can’t let you go back out in that storm, can I?” said Bond. His blue eyes held a soft light that caused Q to forget that oxygen was important.

“N-no,” said Q. “I suppose you can’t.”

“It would be downright inhospitable of me,” said Bond.

“Yes,” said Q. “Completely irresponsible of you as an educator.”

“Ah,” said Bond. “But I’m not an educator, am I?”

“No,” said Q, a sly grin spreading across his face. “No you most certainly are not.”

“And this has nothing to do with a bet, does it?”

“No! Nothing at all! I swear!” Q said, his cheeks burning at the recollection.

“So we can… and it’s all legal and consensual,” James mused as he traced a finger against Q’s shoulders through the robe.

“So we can… and it won’t affect anything,” Q agreed.

“Uh-huh,” said Bond.

“Good,” said Q.

Bond leaned in. Their lips met softly.

“You are really MI6?” Q whispered against Bond’s mouth.

“Mmm,” said Bond, pressing his lips to Q’s once more.

“Ah,” said Q, “I see. Well…” He looked at Bond seriously. “Are you going to kill Bennett?”

Bond blinked. Smiling, he replied: “Not today.”

“Oh,” said Q. He should have been relieved. He really should have. But there was something about the restrained power that Bond exuded that kept his senses on high alert. “So… what happens now?”

“I was hoping for a bit of a snog,” said Bond, “if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh,” said Q and his eager mouth leaned in before he had time to check himself. Bond captured it greedily.

When it came to kissing, Q thought himself fair. He didn’t realize that a kiss could ever be anything more than a prelude to sex. And that was mainly because that’s all it had ever been. He had no reason to assume that Bond had anything else in mind. He was very wrong.

Bond didn’t break their kiss as he snaked an arm around the boy’s waist to hug him in closer. His mouth bit and licked its way into Q’s, sending signals to his brain that this was the best thing he had ever tasted. Bond let out a low moan when he registered the taste of tea and honey and, beyond that, the taste of Q.

That groan shot straight to Q’s cock. He felt the damn thing twitch in anticipation. Q’s thin fingers grasped Bond’s arm, his tongue felt the velvet touch of Bond’s, and his neck was being guided gently but firmly by Bond’s grasp. He felt his eyes roll into the back of his head and his toes curl and just when Q was ready to let out his own moan, Bond pulled away for a breath and the moan turned into a whimper at the separation.

Bond chuckled at the boy’s need. “Easy love,” he whispered. “We’re just warming up.” And he dove in for another taste.

The rough rub of stubble reddened both their mouths, but neither man cared. This was the release they had wanted and they weren’t looking for anything more. In fact, they were so focused on each other, they barely noticed when the power went out. The flicker of firelight caressed them both and soon the rest of the world was in the storm and they were in the stillness of the eye.

Hands moved over limbs outstretched and lengthening as they lay next to each other on the sofa, Bond curled around Q possessively, each kiss landing like a brand upon his lips, his neck, his collarbone. Bond seemed to use nothing but his hands and mouth to mark and trace and light fires all over Q’s skin. He never attempted to take off the robe or his own clothes. Where they were was enough for them both and their erect cocks displayed all the interest they needed to communicate.

Bond ground his hips into Q and attempted to memorize each and every place that made the boy gasp and cry out. He coordinated his efforts and soon had Q crying out his name and ripping his shirt up from out of his waistband so that eager fingers could bruise and scratch his back.

The persistent weight of Bond on Q was a solid reminder of Bond’s power and presence and Q didn’t want it any other way. He had gone without human touch like this for much too long. His hips thrust upward in a languid serpentine wave against Bond’s solidity, the contact so profoundly real as to shatter all his previous fantasies. Q tasted his flesh, licking and nibbling against his jawline, ignoring the tang of his cologne, pushing his sense of taste past it and beyond to find the animal beneath. He discovered a well-spring of it at the hollow just above Bond’s collarbone and he couldn’t get enough: here was the salt and musk, the heat and strength of the man. Bond moaned loudly, Q’s name intermingled with the sound.

Q came at the sound of it.

Bond came while watching Q.

They lay, forehead to forehead, breathing, staring, taking each other in.

Without a word, Bond began to kiss Q again.

And the rain continued to fall.


	7. Chapter 7

They had fallen asleep for a few hours on the sofa together wrapped in the warmth of a throw blanket. The fire had run low and Bond wriggled out lazily, stirred the embers and added some more wood. “Stay there,” he said kissing Q’s brow tenderly. “I’m going to shower. I’ll be right down.”

Q moaned, turning on his side and shifted the blanket tighter under his chin. “No,” he complained, “not yet.” He reached out and stroked Bond’s face. “Stay for a bit longer.”

“Alright,” said Bond, “but only for a bit. I’m filthy under these clothes.”

“And I’m not?” asked Q.

Bond snuck in behind Q and spooned with him. He nuzzled his nose into the nape of Q’s neck, enjoying the warmth of him. Q scooted himself closer to Bond and hummed with contentment. “You comfortable?” said Bond. His voice was a low rumble against the back of Q’s scalp and he felt the gooseflesh rise along his arms. Q hummed his assent and closed his eyes. “You know,” said Bond, “I was thinking…”

“Hmm?” responded Q.

“It’s too bad you didn’t get into the cellar to plant a camera or two,” said Bond. “We could have so much more intel by now. In fact, we might have intel that would have made my mission here a lot more brief.”

“Then I’m glad I didn’t,” said Q.

“Oh?” said Bond, and then he realized and added: “No. No. You aren’t thinking what I’m thinking.”

“What do you mean?” asked Q.

Bond placed a soft kiss to the nape of Q’s neck. “I was thinking that I’d be done with this assignment, quit my teaching job, and become your sex toy for the remainder of the school term. Well… at least until Christmas.” Bond bit at Q’s earlobe.

Q couldn’t help but laugh. “You must be joking,” he said.

“I never joke about things like this,” said Bond.

“Things like sex, you mean?” asked Q. He turned his head to look at Bond.

Bond propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at the tousle-haired angel. “Like you coming to work for MI6.”

“What?” asked Q.

“I think it won’t take until Christmas to convince you,” Bond said, dipping down to give Q a soft kiss.

“And you think you have to seduce me to come back to England and work for MI6?” asked Q. He traced a fingertip along Bond’s collarbone

“Don’t I?” asked Bond.

“No,” said Q. “Although… I’m not quite sure what I could do beyond surveillance for MI6. Perhaps a bit of security programming?”

“I think you could tinker with quite a lot of things in the Quartermaster Programme,” said Bond.

“The Quartermaster Programme,” said Q thoughtfully. “That sounds… very military.”

“And it is, as it happens,” said Bond with a smirk. “It’ll involve logistics during missions. You’ll be in my ear and assisting me when I need it during assignments. Think about it. But know this: I’m not leaving Boston without you.” He gave Q a quick kiss and hopped up from the sofa. “Come find me when the sofa finally decides to let you go.” And with another heart-stopping grin, he disappeared up the stairs.

Q listened for the shower and soon heard it beyond the crackling of the fire. He watched the flames in the grate for a few minutes, his mind wandering about James Bond. So much had happened in that small space of time and it was moving so fast. “I’m not leaving Boston without you…”

To go home, to be back in England, was almost too surreal to contemplate. He definitely didn’t want to go back home to his mother and father’s house. Perhaps he could live with James? But would that be appropriate? If he were working for MI6, presumably he could afford a flat all on his own; Q shivered at the thought of flat mates. Lita was about all he could handle when it came to that.

And to think of all the tech that would be available to him! Bond was right: he could tinker to his heart’s desire. It really was a dream come true. Maybe if he proved himself to the higher-ups, he could have a lab all to himself. Q sighed happily and listened to the water splash about. Suddenly, his eyes widened with the realization that on the floor just above him was a naked, wet, secret agent who was very much not-his-teacher. Flinging the blanket aside, he bounded up the stairs by twos.

He fumbled with the belt on the robe for an agonizing second before it came loose and he let it fall behind him as he strode toward the sound of the shower. He passed through that now all-too-familiar bedroom hopping on one foot and then the other as he removed his pants. By the time he had divested himself of all his clothing he was standing in the doorway of the bathroom and stopped breathless by the sight before him.

The glass shower wall was barely concealing Bond’s form, the top of it being clear with the bottom-half opaque white. Bond’s bum was on full display in profile at its open edge. A trickle of soapy water caressed the curve of it and Q checked his chin to see if he was drooling again. Bond peeked around the edge, soap suds thick in his hair and smiled. “You joining me or just observing?” he teased.

Q took a deep gulp and stepped across the room and into the shower. He had seen Bond showering a few times previous to this, but he never had a good angle on it because of how the shower itself was positioned. Even if he had, he had never been this close nor was it ever in such vivid color. Another trickle of soapy water came across Bond’s arse and Q put out a curious finger to follow its trail. Bond turned his head at this, smirking as he caught Q in a trance-like state. “See something you like?”

Q’s head jerked up at this and he blinked. “Sorry,” he said.

“No need to be,” said Bond. “Come here.” He guided Q under the warm spray and watched his thick hair mat down under the water. “Warm enough?” he asked.

Mmm,” Q hummed in the affirmative. He closed his eyes as Bond carded the water through his hair gently, sweeping it away from his forehead and out of his eyes. Q felt pressure on his mouth and realized a fraction of a second later that Bond was kissing him. He responded in kind, pressing cold hands onto the warm flesh of Bond’s chest. He felt Bond wrap his arms around him and hold him closely as the kiss lengthened and they savored each other’s taste. As Q dove for another, he tasted soap.

“Ugh,” said Q, “perhaps we should rinse you off, yeah?”

Bond’s sour expression spoke volumes as he nodded in agreement. Giggling, they turned as one, never losing their embrace and James tipped his head back into the water. Q reached up obligingly to scrub the soap out and when he was clean, Bond kissed his thanks. Q sighed and nuzzled into Bond’s neck. “And it can be like this always?” asked Q.

“When I’m not on a mission, yes,” said Bond. “I really don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

“And I don’t want you to get killed,” said Q.

“Comes with the territory, love,” said Bond. “Nothing I can do about that.”

Q pulled his head back and said: “Doesn’t it affect you? All that killing? The sneaking about?”

“I’d be a liar to say that it didn’t,” said Bond soberly. “The trick is to either have a great love or a great cause. Me? I have both. England. Beyond that, I have nothing to lose.”

“And where do I fit?” said Q. “If your great love and cause are one in the same and neither is me, then what am I? Your boy toy?”

“You fall under the heading of England, love,” said Bond. “And besides, if I get my way, you’ll be fighting right alongside me. So, in a way, we’re a team, you and I.” He kissed him deeply.

“But if I’m in your ear,” said Q around Bond’s next kiss, “then that means I’m giving you orders.”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Bond, his mouth better occupied by trailing kisses down Q’s jawline to that spot just under his ear.

Q lost his breath for a moment and said: “I’m not used to giving anyone orders.”

“You’ll be wonderful at it,” said Bond into Q’s ear. “I know you will.” He pulled his head back and looked at Q. “Go on then,” he said. “Give an order. Anything you like.”

Q blushed and happily said: “Kiss me.”

Bond took him by the shoulders and kissed him soundly. “Next order, Quartermaster?” Q’s look of glee turned sober as he realized the power Bond was giving him. He stared at Bond for a long moment until the agent said: “What’s wrong?”

Q didn’t know where it came from, but he suddenly got brave. “Kneel,” he commanded. Bond sobered too and dropped to his knees on the cushioned shower mat before the boy. “I’ve been watching you since you got here,” said Q. “And I still want to watch you. Only this time, I want to watch you do what I tell you to do. Will you do that for me?”

Bond nodded.

“Good,” said Q. He leaned in and gave Bond a soft kiss. Looking deeply into his eyes he said: “Touch yourself.” As Bond began to caress his own manhood, Q stepped behind him and observed from over Bond’s shoulder, the warm water pelting his back. He whispered his commands softly into his ear as he watched:

_Slower…_

_Pull the foreskin up, rub the edges together. I know how much you like that._

_Now take the shaft and give yourself long strokes… slowly… that’s it. Keep going until you’re wet._

_Run a fingertip over the head and across the slit. Good._

_Now taste._

_Cup your balls in one hand and run your fingertips all over your head. Just the fingertips. That’s it._

_I want to watch you fuck your fist, James. Go on._

Q had wanted Bond in this way but had no idea how badly until this very moment; the power of it was intoxicating. He could probably stave off Bond’s orgasm if he ordered him to.

_Don’t cum for me yet, James. Don’t cum until I tell you to._

Bond whimpered with the effort. His mind was a live wire with the fantasy of that voice in his ear on missions – and after missions. The turn-on was such that he bit his lip to distract him from his body’s urge to ejaculate. He forced his mind on other things: droplets of water coming down the wall, steam rising, anything to get his mind off of cumming as this beautiful boy murmured filthy things in his ear.

_You do want to cum, don’t you, James? But you mustn’t. Not yet. Stay strong for me._

_Just your fingertips now. All along the shaft. Tease yourself. Keep yourself hard._

_Do you like to touch your nipples? Do that for me then. Both hands. Go on._

_Christ, you’re so fucking hard._

_So beautiful._

_Do you know how beautiful you are, James? Do you know how badly I want to watch you cum?_

James looked at Q with a pained expression on his face. His hips cantered back and forth as his hardened prick sought out the friction that just wasn’t there. He needed to cum badly and they both knew it and damn him, Q wasn’t letting him! “P-please Q,” said Bond.

_Not yet, love._

_Just a few more seconds._

Q stepped around Bond again and faced him. Kneeling down before him, Q ordered: “Cum. Cum now. Aim for my chest. I want it all over me.”

Bond took his cock by the base and, with just that light a touch, with just Q’s word of permission, relief flooded him and he shot out hot cum all over Q’s chest and cock, hips rocking and thrusting, as Q stared at him with intense green eyes forming an expression of ultimate possession. As soon as he was done, Q crawled forward on his knees and pressed his filthy body along Bond’s. He wrapped his arms about his neck and kissed him slowly and deeply.

“Let’s get cleaned up and get to bed,” said Q lazily.

“But what about you?” asked Bond.

Q smiled at him. “Nevermind, love,” he said. “I’m more than satisfied. Trust me.”

Several minutes of soapy kissing later, they tumbled into bed, hair damp, exhausted and happy.

 

~080~

 

It took all Q had to part with James that day. He had to get back. He had an evening class that couldn’t be skipped and night-duty in the computer lab after that. He was to close the place at midnight.

It ended up that he closed the place at half-past twelve. The power outage had affected the campus and ever since it came back on, the lab had been crazy busy. Q grumbled as he locked the back door to the lab. Of course it didn’t help Q’s day that the last person out had to dispose of all the garbage and a rather large group of seniors had managed to smuggle in fast food to fuel them in their thesis research during the rush, the bastards.

The good news was: the rain had stopped. Q hauled the garbage to the tib and slammed the lid down in frustration. His day had started off being so fucking exciting and relaxing and warm and wonderful and it was ending on a shite note. He stomped off toward his home, wrapping his coat tighter around him to ward off the cold wet air.

As he passed the side street that led to the the gate and then on to the Honors building, he was reminded of what Bond had said about getting surveillance in the cellar. He walked the rest of the way home, his mind churning over the possibilities of planting more cams in or around that building. He knew that there were at least two people he definitely had to avoid if he wanted to get away with it. But honestly, anyone else involved in the honors program couldn’t spot him either.

The easiest solution would be to plant cams outside that could see in the cellar windows – provided that those windows weren’t blocked or too filthy to see through. But there was a problem. He had used his last two exterior cams on the front and back surveillance of Honors already and they take time to make. And any sort of moisture in his smoke detector cams would render them useless. That tore it: either he would have to rig up a weather-proof cam or two (two would be best, he decided), or he would have to infiltrate the house again and plant more cams from the inside.

The exterior cam placement would be safer, but would take too long. Bond needed the information right away. The interior placement would be much more risky, but would take no time at all to prep for. As he reached his rooms, he called out to Lita. She wasn’t home. He took a look through his phone and called the only person he knew who could help him. He just prayed she would be willing.

 

~080~

 

“I’m either crazy or desperate for cash,” said Blue as she and Q huddled together under a copse of trees that provided convenient cover as they faced the Honors building.

Q leaned against the stone wall of the college behind him and lit a cigarette. “Perhaps a bit of both?” he suggested as he exhaled.

Blue scowled at him. “Two o’clock in the fucking morning… You’re lucky I like you.”

Q chuckled. “Come on,” he said as he took another long drag, “let’s get this over with.”

“You know this place is fucking haunted, right?” whispered Blue as they crept closer. The wet crunch of leaves filled the silence as they moved toward the unlit back porch.

“If you feel that badly about it,” said Q, “then just stay out on the porch and keep watch. I only need you to unlock the back and basement doors.”

“You sure?” she asked.

Q nodded and threw his cigarette into a puddle. “Positive,” he said. “This should only take a few minutes. It’s only two cams.”

“OK,” she said, “I don’t see what’s so goddamned important about a locked basement, but OK…”

She unlocked it slower than she did the front door, but she attributed it to her nerves, the hour, and the biting cold that was threatening to eat her fingers alive. Eventually, they both entered the kitchen and stood very still listening for outside noise. Nothing stirred except their breathing.

Q turned on his torch. Shadows danced about the kitchen as he made his way to the doorway in the opposite corner where he could see the door to the basement. He gave one glance over to Blue and tilted his head toward the door indicating for her to follow, he needed her.

She grumbled under her breath and walked toward him slowly, trying not to bump into the table or chairs that filled the center of the room. She picked the lock a bit faster this time, but griped during the entire process. “You really need to learn to do this yourself, camera-boy. Here. Done. Now I’ll stay by the back door here so I can stay out of the cold, but hurry up!” she whispered.

“Fine,” he whispered back, “but stay out of sight and stay quiet.”

“Oh no,” she mocked in a low voice, “I thought I’d throw myself a kegger while I waited. See if I can kill another sorority girl.”

“Stop that,” he said.

“Oh it’s OK,” she countered as she picked her way across the kitchen without any light to guide her save what moonlight streamed through the windows from outside. “You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”

Q didn’t answer her. He was too focused on the void in front of him. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to make any noise as he descended, sticking to the edges of the wooden stairs, instead of treading upon the center. It was a trick he had picked up in his childhood home when, after a late night of programming in his room, he felt the need to feed himself when the whole household was asleep. His parents didn’t like his odd eating habits and certainly didn’t approve of after-hours snacking, so he had to be careful. He found that keeping to the outside of the stair saved him a lot of heartache in the end. That, and skipping the third step entirely as it would give him away no matter where he put his weight. As he descended by the light of his torch, he heard a faint creak from underneath him and stopped cold for a moment only to continue on once he relaxed enough to breathe again. Gently, he shifted his weight from one tread board to the next, always keeping to the edge, not trusting in the durability of them in the slightest – especially since they were so unfamiliar to him.

The bottom of the cellar was dank concrete. Q moved his torch around to the right and located a light switch. He didn’t touch it. The cellar wall was in front of him by about three feet, the majority of the space was to either side of him and behind, underneath the stairs. He moved the torchlight to his left and scanned about. He spotted a thin wire just below knee-height running from the wall to somewhere underneath the stair. He carefully stepped over it and exhaled in relief. Once an IRA member, always an IRA member.

Passing his torch about the space he saw about a dozen card tables set up, each containing something on them. Q stepped closer to inspect and discovered all kinds of chemicals in cork-stoppered beakers. Other tables held chemical compounds in twist-cap plastic containers. Everything seemed intentionally separated and further along, four tables were pushed together and held an entire chemistry set of tubing and beakers, scales and Bunsen burners. Q didn’t want to mess with any of it; it all looked highly toxic.

He shone his light against a white board at the back of the room that contained a chemistry formula of some kind. Q couldn’t make heads or tails of it; then again, chemistry wasn’t exactly his major.

He scanned the light over to the far corner behind him and to the right. There was a sturdy shelf along the wall that supported his weight and allowed him to place a cam up against one of the joists for the ground floor above. Painted a dark brown, it would blend beautifully with the wood, but it had to be secured with a couple of wood screws. The noise of the power tool was deafening and Q stopped three different times trying to set the first screw in place because of the racket it was making. On the remaining ones, he went full-out and didn’t stop until it was set. Lastly, he turned on the cam.

Satisfied, but with his heart racing, Q descended from the shelf, wiped away his footprint with his coat sleeve and made for the other side of the room. Approaching the trip wire near the stairs again, he gave the stairs a quick glance up and noticed that the door was shut. He turned off his torch and listened.

He heard nothing at first. Then there were footsteps. Slow and steady, they got louder and Q didn’t know what to do. He froze in place. The door opened and he heard a whispering voice rasp harshly: “Will you fucking hurry up!?”

“Blue?” Q asked the darkness.

“Yes, you prick!” she said. “Fucking hurry!” There was a pause. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“Lights.”

“What do you mean, lights?”

“Car lights! Headlights! _Someone’s coming!_ ”

Before he could say anything, she was through the basement door and closing it behind her. Q turned on his torch and stepped back a bit. He didn’t want Blue to trip the wire or see the chemicals and he didn’t know what was on the other side of the basement, but he wanted her to go that way instead. It was a bigger probability that they would find some decent cover on that side of the room anyway if this side was the one booby-trapped.

He gestured with his torch and said: “That way." She turned to her right at the bottom of the stair and made her way into the dark.

“Ow!” she squealed. “God damn it!”

“Shh!” said Q, stepping carefully over the wire.

“Oh fucking you shush! Boxes and shit all over here! Ugh!” she said. “Ow!”

“What happened?” he asked.

“Well first I banged my shin. And now I’m bumping into a wire,” she said.

“What?” he asked. “What do you mean, a wire?”

There was a soft click and Q’s instincts went bat-shit insane. “Don’t fucking move, Blue!”

He shone his light upon her as she stood among boxes covered in canvas. Blue’s leg was pressed into a thin wire that disappeared between two crates. Blue looked back at him terrified. “Q?” she said.

Q didn’t understand what was going on, but he decided to take a chance. He hit the light switch at the bottom of the stairs. Nothing happened. He flipped the switch stupidly up and down and up again. Still there was nothing.

“Stay here,” said Q, thinking of Bond. “I’ll get help.”

“What?” she asked. They both hear the car door slam outside.

“You cannot move, Blue,” he said. “You have to stay here. Please, darling. Just don’t move, OK? I’ll get help.” Q began to mount the stairs.

“What the hell is going on, Q?” she begged. “I don’t like this.”

“I know, love,” said Q, “but I have no choice. Stay here, stay quiet. Don’t move. No matter what.” He charged up the remaining stairs and opened the door as quietly as he could.

There was no time. Q waited for the footsteps to get closer to the basement door and then he _pushed_.

He felt the resistance of someone on the other side, but he didn’t stop to look to see who it was. He charged for the kitchen, banging into the table and chairs in his haste, recovered, and sped out the door without looking back. He had to hope that whomever it was that he surprised would take a look to see that all was well with the chemicals and then chase after him, leaving Blue unnoticed.

He raced as fast as his legs would carry him toward Bond’s house. Lungs burning, heart racing, legs aching, he didn’t made it two blocks before the explosion hit. At first, he didn’t look back. He just stopped and shut his eyes tightly. Lights in the houses along the street went on as he finally managed to turn around and face the Honors building, half of which was now engulfed in flames. Professor Bennett’s car was cradling a portion of the front porch roof.

People poured into the street wrapped in robes, covered in coats, duck boots over naked feet. “What the hell happened?” asked one.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” said a woman, crossing herself.

“Musta been a gas delivery to an oil house,” said a man.

“What?” asked yet another.

“Yeah,” offered the man, “I heard about it happening sometimes. Gas gets pumped into an oil-heated house, fills the house, owner’s not home, owner gets home, turns on a light… boom.”

“Oh my God,” said another neighbor.

“Yeah,” continued the man, “happened in my brother-in-law’s neighborhood. Rental property that was empty. Real estate agent came to do a check-through before a showing, flicked a switch… It only takes one spark.”

Fire engine sirens got closer and everyone emptied the street to let them through. Q pulled his coat tighter around his throat and walked slowly away, shaking. He had never needed James more than he did in that very moment.


	8. Chapter 8

“Q!” said Bond. Q didn’t say a word. He was too upset. He pushed past Bond and fell into the sofa, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He had held himself together right up until that point. He was numb at first, it wasn’t so bad; only his trembling hands gave him away. He had had a cigarette on the way, but the nicotine hit didn’t seem to calm him at all. He felt Bond’s strong arm around him. He felt a kiss in his hair. “What’s wrong, Q? What’s happened?” Bond asked.

Q looked at him through his tears. “I- told her… I said: Don’t move! Don’t fucking move!” he sobbed. “B-but she did. She did. I said: don’t move to her because I thought he would chase me.” He beat his chest. “He was supposed to chase _me_! Jesus Christ!” He sobbed all over again.

Bond was clearly confused. “Slow down, Q,” he said softly, stroking the boy’s hair as he held him close. Q wrapped his thin arms about Bond’s chest and pressed a wet, snotty face into his bathrobe. “Who is “she”? Are you talking about Lita?”

“No,” said Q, through his sobs, “Blue. You didn’t know her. S-she was a friend. Oh god… she was my friend!”

“Blue was your friend,” said Bond, mystified. “Ok. Now who was supposed to chase you?”

“Bennett,” said Q.

Instantly, Bond held Q out at arms length, gripping him at the shoulders. “What the hell did you do, Q? Why was Bennett chasing you?”

“But I just told you: he didn’t chase me!” said Q. His face was a tear-streaked mess, his eyes swollen and red. “He was supposed to and he didn’t and now she’s… _gone_!”

“Gone?” asked Bond. “Blue. He killed Blue?”

Q nodded. “They’re both gone… I think,” he said.

“What do you mean “you think”?” asked Bond cautiously.

Q had recovered some from his initial emotional outburst and just stared numbly at a point in space near Bond’s left elbow. “I can’t be sure. The whole house blew up. I would have thought the entire town heard it. It’ll make the local paper, if not the local news. But all I know is that if they pull bodies from the house, one of them will be Blue.”

“The whole house…” said Bond, putting the pieces together. “You don’t mean you were at the Honors house?”

Again Q nodded.

“What the bloody hell were you there for? And at two o’clock in the morning?”

“I wanted to get you your camera in the cellar.”

“My camera…”

Q’s eyes met Bond’s accusingly. Bond felt himself inwardly flinch. “ _You said_ … You said that it was too bad that we didn’t get any cams in the cellar. You said that! That’s all I was trying to do! That’s it! Just me and Blue because she can pick a lock and I can’t. But then someone came and she got spooked - she thinks the place is haunted - and she came down the cellar stairs and she tripped the wire on the other side. I saw the first one and told her to go the other way. It’s all my fault. She died and it’s all my fucking fault!” Q sobbed anew and hung his head limply.

“Bennett had the cellar booby-trapped,” said Bond. It wasn’t a question, but Q nodded anyway. “Fuck.” He leaned back on the sofa and thought for a moment, leaving Q to sway under his own power. The boy’s head hung lower and lower in his grief and Bond grabbed him and pulled him to his chest, cradling him. Bond knew that the next questions he had to ask were not going to be exactly welcome at this moment, but he had to know. He had a job to do.

“What did you see in the cellar, Q?” he asked softly.

Much to his surprise, Q didn’t react with anger. He took his time in giving him an answer, however. Many long minutes went by before the boy whispered: “Chemicals, a white board with writing on it, and chemistry equipment set up.”

Bond’s next question was more urgent in tone: “And the house blew up?” Q nodded. Reluctantly but quickly, Bond peeled Q off of him and set him back against the sofa. Getting up he muttered: “I need to make a call. Wait here. Don’t leave.”

Q couldn’t leave even if he wanted to; his body was currently betraying him in more ways than one. He wanted to be angry, sad, motivated toward revenge on the now-dead Bennett, but inside of him there was nothing. He hadn’t even had the strength to move. He simply lay there on the sofa, barely registering Bond’s voice coming from his bedroom above, then the stairs, then the sitting room, until a pair of trousered legs stood in his line of vision.

“And what’s the ETA on the team?” Bond asked to whomever he was speaking. “Good. Good. Alright. Thanks, Jack. And again: sorry about the mess…. Yeah. Alright. Cheers. Bye.” Q heard the phone ring off and then Bond’s warmth was near him again. With his ear pressed against Bond’s chest, the low rumble of his voice was soothing to Q. “I’ve a friend in high places who is going to contain this environmental mission disaster. The chemicals alone will fuck up the neighborhood for weeks, if not months. Most everything in that basement had to be some form of irritant. I don’t suppose you got a good look at any of the actual chemical labels, eh?”

Q didn’t answer him.

“No,” said Bond. “I suppose not.” Bond rubbed his back soothingly and hummed a tuneless melody into Q’s hair. His mother had done that to him when he was a boy and Bond had managed to surprise himself with the memory of it.

Almost below the register of his hearing came a whisper: “How do you do it?”

Bond pulled his head back to get a better look at Q. “Do what?”

“Not feel anything?” asked Q.

“I do feel things, Q,” said Bond. “But I can’t get mixed emotions in the middle of a mission. You feel things in between missions, not while you’re on them.”

“And someone trains you for this?” Q asked. His eyes were still red and raw, his gaze lost and afraid.

“In a way,” said Bond. “But you also have to have the temperament. Not just anyone can do what I do.”

“And what is it that you do?” asked Q.

Normally, Bond would invent a soft lie for situations like this where the asset knew some but not all of the truth. This time, however, Q’s eyes wouldn’t allow that to happen. “As you know, I am an agent in Her Majesty’s Secret Service, but I work in the Double-O division.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that I have a license to kill.”

A pause. “You’re an assassin.”

“Yes.”

“I see.” Another pause. “And you’ve watched people die?”

“Many.”

A pause. “Do you keep count?”

“Someone does.”

Another pause. This one was longer. “Do you remember their faces?”

“Only when I choose to feel.”

A silence was born between them that made it impossible for Bond to speak and weighed down Q like a millstone.

Q stood silently and regarded Bond with a look that he couldn’t quite decipher. His voice was a whisper when he spoke: “If it’s alright with you, James, I don’t think I want to be a spy anymore.” His eyes welled up again and he trembled with his sobs.

Bond stood and held him close, rubbing his back and nuzzling into his hair. “This was not your doing, Q,” said Bond. “This isn’t your fault.”

Q pulled away from him, angered. “How?! How is this not my fault?! I’m the one who wanted to go into the house tonight. It was my idea to call her up. It was also my idea not to tell you I was doing any of this." He shook his head and lowered his glance. "It’s all so stupid: I wanted to impress you. I wanted to be useful to you. I wanted to be a spy and… " His eyes once again met Bond's as he raved: "And it was all fun and games, wasn’t it? It was all a big game right up until the point where my friend _blew up_.” He stared at Bond hard. “How is all of this NOT my fault?! I’ve killed my friend! She’s dead, scattered in a million pieces, because of me. No one else. _Just me_.

“I’m always the responsible one. I’m always the one in control. I’m always the one with the plan, the brains of the operation. And that’s what I tried to be tonight. And I failed. I got her killed and there was fuck all I could do about it, wasn’t there? Jesus wept! Her parents won’t even get a body to say goodbye to. They won’t even get to bury their daughter because of me – _because of ME_.”

Bond had heard these words before. Every time he couldn’t save someone – their names echoed in his head even now – he had to learn to live with the fact that sometimes you just can’t save everyone. Sometimes someone who doesn’t deserve it dies. And Blue was no exception. Most of the time, because Bond was on a mission, he could rationalize the death with a simple “collateral damage” explanation; but this was the first time he was dealing with someone who didn’t have the training to deal with the circumstance. Q wasn’t officially MI6. He wasn’t officially anything except a brilliant student who got in over his head. It was no use asking Q why he didn’t get Bond to plant the camera. He had just told him: Q wanted to impress Bond. If it had worked, Bond would have been concerned, impressed, and flattered. But it all went wrong and now Bond had to pick up pieces that were unfamiliar to him. At first he couldn’t think of what to say to him, but then he tried: “You couldn’t have planned for all of this, Q. You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have,” Q sobbed. “I should have seen it. Why didn’t I see it?”

Bond sighed. “Q. Stop. Please,” he said. “Shh…” He stroked a hand through his dark tresses soothingly. “Come here,” he added, pulling him close. As soon as he did, Q relaxed into his arms and buried his nose in the crook of Bond’s neck. After a few long minutes of resting against the soft-hard warmth that was Bond, Q found himself drifting off from complete exhaustion. It did not escape Bond’s notice. “You’re staying here tonight,” he declared and he put an arm around Q’s shoulders and guided him upstairs.

He sat Q on his bed and removed his shoes. “Everything out of your pockets please,” he said as he pulled off Q’s coat. Q did as he was bid. “And the belt off too. And the glasses.”

Once stripped of all things that could cause discomfort, Bond laid Q down underneath his duvet and pressed a kiss to his temple. “You rest here and if you fall asleep, that’s good. Let yourself have that. You’ve done all you can tonight. You have to take care of yourself. Alright?” he lectured.

“I don’t deserve sleep,” said Q.

“Love, you’re exhausted. You’re fucking traumatized. Trust me. I’ve been here. Do as I tell you and you’ll survive the night. You don’t think you’ll sleep? I’ll soon fix that. Now stay here. I’ll be right back.”

True to his word, Bond left the room and came back with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He placed them on the bedside table and filled the glasses with a finger each. “This is sipping whiskey. I expect you’ve never had this.”

Q replied, “I have once. My father drinks it.”

“Then you remember the feel of it, don’t you?”

Q nodded. “I didn’t like it then, but I was a kid and was sneaking it to be naughty. I had a big mouthful before I understood what it was and I swallowed it as a reflex so I wouldn’t get caught, but I was sick straight away, I vomited on mum’s carpet and was punished for two weeks.”

Bond chuckled as he handed over a glass to Q. He sat up to take it. “Well I’m not your mother. And if you vomit on my bed or this carpet, you’ll clean it up yourself. Understood?”

Q gave him a half-grin and nodded. “Nothing can make me feel worse than I do already.”

Bond watched in silence as Q took a tentative sip. He made a face. “Not really my thing,” said Q.

“Drink,” said Bond.

The smoky-flavor of the booze won out and, after the first glass, began to have its effect on Q’s sensibilities. The room moved slowly under his drowsy gaze. A warm feeling built a home for itself inside his stomach. Bond took the glass gently from his hand and filled it again in the same manner. “One more and I think you’re done, love,” he said. “Drink again.”

Q gaped at the glass lazily and downed it like cough medicine. He coughed and sputtered, handing the glass back to Bond. “Done now,” he said.

Bond looked down the glass, raised an eyebrow, and quipped, “I’d say so.”

Q settled back under the duvet with a soft sigh. Bond watched him with a mixture of fondness and protectiveness. He carded a hand through Q’s hair. “There now,” he said softly. “Are you comfortable?” Q nodded. “Good. Good boy. Sleep now, love. Beautiful boy. Just sleep.”

Q’s eyes grew heavy under the influence of the alcohol, Bond’s voice, and the strong hand pushing through his hair. He felt the hand leave. He heard the voice stop. He felt the weight of the agent lift off the mattress. He didn’t care. His mind was busy conjuring images of explosions and houses afire, strong arms that wrapped him up tight in their care, and soft stubbly kisses by firelight. Deeper and deeper he sank, until there was nothing left but his heartbeat, his breathing, and the smell of smoke. Heat licked at him from all sides and suddenly it was Bond there stuck on the trip wire. It was Bond’s voice pleading with him to make sense of madness. And as he ran from the house again it was Bond that screamed his name and he felt it chase him into the dark of the cold woods to tangle and hang in the air with thousands of icicles that were daggers and accusing fingers pointing out his sin and his guilt and it was his fault his fault his fault his fault-

“Q!” said Bond.

Q flailed against Bond’s chest as he tried to hold him close. “Shh… love, easy,” said Bond. “It was a nightmare. It’s alright now. Shh… it’s alright.”

Q still felt drunk, but he also felt sick. “I’ve got to-“ he started, pushing Bond aside and running for the toilet. He retched up what remained of the whiskey.

He sat back on his heels and waited for the nausea to pass. He was clammy and cold, shivering. Bond had turned the light on and was running a tap behind him, but he didn’t look around. Soon a cool wet flannel was placed to his forehead and Bond flushed the toilet. “It’s alright, Q, love,” said Bond.

“How?”

“What?”

“How is it alright?” Q looked at him with pleading tears in his eyes.

Bond smoothed away the fringe from his forehead, damp where the cloth had been placed. “Oh I don’t know, damn it all,” he said and hugged the boy to him. “I don’t fucking know, Q. I’m doing my best here.”

“I know,” said Q. “Thank you.” Then he added: “Please tell me that she died for something, James.”

“She did,” he said, relieved that he could be honest and still make Q feel better about the whole bloody mess. “She died and took with her a man that was willing to be a party to the enslavement of the free world. He was willing to become an instrument in global destruction and she died destroying him. As far as I’m concerned, she’s a bloody hero.”

“I just thought he was making drugs,” said Q.

Bond stared at Q for a split second before laughing loud and long. Bond explained in general terms what Bennett was capable of and Q looked almost relieved. “So… she died for a good cause then?” he asked, hopeful.

“For the best cause there is, in my opinion,” said Bond. He stood and went to the sink. “Here. It’s a spare.” He broke a toothbrush out of its packaging and bade Q come and brush his teeth. “You’ll feel better once your mouth is washed out, I think.”

“What exactly is worth dying for?” asked Q as he scrubbed his teeth.

“Country, duty, honor, and love,” said Bond. “And love is optional.” He strode to the toilet to piss.

“Why is love optional?” asked Q.

“Because not all love is true love,” said Bond. “Love of country is always true. Duty and honor come from that. But love on its own has to be judged by the object of the affection.” He shook off and flushed.

“For instance?” asked Q, rinsing his mouth.

“For instance,” said Bond as he washed his hands, “people. Different people you love in different ways. Do you love me the same way you love Lita? Or your parents? Or in the same way you loved Blue?”

“I see what you mean,” said Q. “And just in case you’re curious, I do.”

“You do?” asked Bond, a little lost.

“I do,” said Q. “Love you.” He turned back toward the bedroom and crawled beneath the duvet.

“I see,” said Bond, turning off the light and sitting on the edge of the bed.

Q lifted his head and noticed the bedroll on the floor across the room. “You weren’t sleeping with me?” he asked.

Bond shook his head. “You were rather the worse for whiskey and there are rules about such things.”

Q smiled at him. “I do love you.” Bond smiled back and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “And I’m very sober now,” he added.

“Easy, you,” said Bond. “There are also rules about traumatized people.”

“And there is a notion that someone you love is going to be helpful to you in such circumstances,” Q retorted. “Please, James. No sex. Just us.”

Bond couldn’t help himself. He kissed Q deeply and stared into green pools lit with love. “Budge over,” he said.

Q fell asleep to the sound of Bond’s strong heartbeat which instantly became the beat of waves on the ocean as they walked hand in hand down the shore in Blackpool, the tower in the distance, a sunset on their shoulders, their country beneath their feet. Home was all around him and Q slept well.


	9. Chapter 9

They awoke within minutes of one another, each man allowing the other to stretch, move, and groan themselves into wakefulness. Sleepy kisses exchanged, Bond arose from the bed to shower and change. As he made his way to the bathroom, he told Q he had an early meeting with his CIA contact to sort out the Bennett business. Q realized on his own that Bond would also have to turn in his notice to the college. His reason for being here blown to kingdom come…

Q sat up suddenly on the edge of his bed and stared at his feet. It all came back to him in a rush and it seemed like a lifetime ago. Blue was dead. Oh Christ, what was he going to tell Lita? How does one explain to one’s best friend that he managed to get one of her oldest and dearest friend killed? It was his selfishness and ego that caused the situation. What would he say to the others? And would he be allowed to attend her funeral? He was going to want to do that. But no, it would be a memorial service – there was no body to bury. His gut twisted and he felt wretched.

Q listened to Bond splashing behind the locked door to the bathroom. He was certainly considerate, wasn’t he? He even locked the door in case Q was tempted to join him in there. How gallant. He had a surprisingly strong moral code for a hired killer. Q chuckled darkly. The man was practically a Disney prince. And he was the reason for Q’s bravado. He had such a good life here before James Bond. He was on track, he had a plan. And now look where he was. And for what? A roll in the hay that he hadn’t even gotten yet?

Q held his head in his hands. Bond wanted him to go back with him, to pull up stakes, to give up his life entirely and go back to a country he had left years before without a plan to turn back. He was meant to be going to MIT! Why did he let Bond change his mind? Clearly, he couldn’t handle the pressure. He would make a right fool of himself. What was he thinking anyway? That he would just waltz into MI6, stand by and look clever as Bond read off his non-existent CV, and expect to be handed the keys to the kingdom?

Q stood and quickly got dressed. He had to leave. He had to do it before Bond could get out of the shower. He couldn’t face him.

He made it out of the house and began his walk home. The cold wet day was bone-chilling, fallen leaves sticking to the pavement in a carpet of decay. Q could see his breath. His legs ached. His lungs burned with the cold air. His pace became faster and faster and he could feel the separation between him and Bond build up and up until his was skipping his steps, then jogging, then running. He ran.

A light mist of rain turned into a heavy one and his feet moved mechanically, dragging the rest of his frame with them like a sack of old bones. He didn’t notice the places or people he passed; he moved through their world like an apparition in a dream. Nothing existed in his mind except the burning of his lungs, the beating of his heart, and the thump-thump-thump of his feet on the concrete.

He ran clear up to his front door, opened it, and stood still facing a very surprised Lita.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asked. She was putting up her hair into a messy ponytail with two Chinese chopsticks. She must have had an early class to be dressed at that hour. That's right, Q's brain clicked over: art history.

Q couldn’t catch his breath fast enough to answer her. He had never run that hard in his life. He held up a hand to beg for patience as he gripped his side and bent double.

Lita gave him exactly three seconds of silence before she continued: “Did you hear that explosion last night?”

He looked at her. “Yes,” he said.

“Man, that was some serious shit,” she continued, moving to their galley kitchen and the waiting coffee. “I have no idea what blew. Was it a car? Or was it a gas station or something? Do you know?” She held the coffee pot in one hand, her mug in the other as she queried him.

“It was the Honors building,” he said, righting himself.

Lita gaped. “No shit,” she said. “Is that just what you heard, or did you go by and see and that’s why you’re out of breath?”

“I saw it,” he said.

“Wow,” she said, finally pouring her cup. “Was there anything left?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

“Jesus, I hope no one was hurt.” She added sugar.

“Lita?”

“Hmm?” She added milk.

“Lita?”

“Yeah, babe,” she said. “Did you want a cup?”

“No, Lita,” he said.

She sat at the table. He watched her in silence. After a moment of enduring his mournful stare she said: “What?”

“Lita,” he started.

“Geoffrey,” she replied.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“Because… I did it. It was me.”

“It was you,” she parroted, mystified. Then the mists cleared and she said: “You caused the Honors building to explode? Holy shit, motherfucker! What the hell happened? Have you finally cracked your nut or something?”

Q shook his head. Tears came to his eyes. “I… It wasn’t meant to… Blue.”

“I bet it wasn’t meant to blow,” she chuckled.

“No! Not blow – Blue! She was there. And it was me. It was my fault.”

Lita stared at him frozen. She carefully lowered her mug to the table surface and turned to face him properly. “What about Blue?” she asked carefully.

“I’m so sorry, Lita,” Q begged.

Lita looked through him. She spoke as though in a trance. “Blue was in the Honors building? When it exploded? She was there?” Q nodded pathetically, tears streaming down his face. “And you’re the one that asked her to be there?” He nodded again. “Why?”

“S-stupid,” he sobbed. “I wanted cams in the cellar. She wasn’t keen to go. She didn’t like the place. But she went anyway. Because I asked. The place was rigged to blow. Bennett did it. He’s dirty – was dirty. He was there too.” Q realized too late that he was ranting. Openly crying, he continued: “He was the reason she died. He spooked her. I told her not to move and she didn’t until she saw him and then she moved and the tripwire blew them both to hell. I’m so sorry, Lita. So sorry. So fucking sorry. Please.”

Lita listened in numbed detachment. “Professor Bennett was the reason?” she repeated. “You said you asked her to go.”

“I didn’t know the place was booby trapped!” he said.

Lita blinked a few times before asking her next question: “Where were you?”

“I-,” said Q, choking on his own answer. “I ran to get help.”

“And you told her not to move,” she repeated. Q nodded. “But she did.”

Q nodded again. “Must have,” he said. “The place blew seconds after I left.” The crying had stopped, but the tears still stained his face.

“Blue is dead.” Lita tried out the sentence on her tongue. She tried again: “Blue is dead.” She raised her eyes to him, really seeing him for what may have been the first time ever. “And you killed her.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“She was my oldest friend,” she said, turning her head to study the coffee in her mug. “We nicknamed her together. Her real name was Imogene and she hated it. It was her grandmother’s name. Said it made her feel like she was eighty. Genie was too weird and Imma was too awkward, so we decided to name her after her favorite color: Blue.” She faced him again. “And now she’s dead. And it’s all because of you.”

There were no more tears for Q to cry. He stood there like a whipping boy at the post and braced himself for her worst. It never came. She rose from the table, picked up her coat, and left the apartment.

He raced after her. “Please, Lita,” he begged. “Please. I didn’t mean for it to happen. It was all so fast. Please.”

She looked up at him from the stairwell. “I can’t talk to you right now. I’ve got to go tell Blue’s mom. She’s got no one now. Blue’s brother Daniel died in Iraq two years ago, ironically via roadside bomb.” She stepped down a couple of more stairs before pausing and looking back up at him. “I won’t tell her that I’m rooming with her killer, by the way. And please don’t expect to be invited to her funeral. I’m thinking that if you were to attend, I may lose all patience with you and say something that you’d soon regret.”

Q couldn’t respond as he watched her descend the stairs and pass from his view. The front door to the building closed with a slam and Q knew that his life on campus was as dead as Imogene.

 

~080~

 

Bond was concerned but not surprised to find that Q had gone. He sent him a text asking him to get in touch once he had time. For all Bond knew, Q had an early class. He dressed and headed for the door, ten minutes early for his meet up with Jack. The CIA operative had chosen a small café in Boston and Bond pulled up a chair just as the other agent had finished ordering. “Same for me, thanks,” he told the waiter.

“So,” said Jack, his grin wide. “Thanks for the fucking shithole you left behind, James. The EPA is on our ass now as well as Homeland Security. Who was this asshole anyway?”

“What do you mean?” asked Bond.

“Don’t play the coquette debutante with me, you limey bastard,” said Jack. “Why did they send an armed Double-O to pick up a relic from the IRA glory days?”

“You know I can’t tell you that, Jack,” said Bond. The waiter came and left with their espressos.

“But you can tell me if you’re leaving with what you came for,” Jack said. He had a few decade's experience as an agent and knew what he was talking about. He also knew that he was seated across a café table sipping espresso with a trained killer.

“I only came here for Bennett,” said Bond.

“Well you can have what little we managed to scrape out of the house,” said Jack and he smiled. Bond nodded. “Our boys didn’t realize that the Irishman was so delicate-boned.”

“What do you mean?” said Bond.

“Well,” said Jack, leaning in conspiratorially, “our side seems to think that your Bennett had a girl on the side. Maybe a student? There was a body in the basement. Preliminary exams point toward a female.”

“You actually found remains?” asked Bond.

“Yeah,” said Jack. “You sound surprised, James.”

“I am,” he replied. “I was told the blast took out the whole house.”

“It did,” said Jack. “We found a skull and some hair trapped under some metal boxes and old crates that indicate a female presence in the house. We think she was at one end of the cellar, the explosion happened at the other. But the cellar was filled with all manner of junk. That’s why we were able to recover what was left of her. Her body was blown away from the central explosion. That’s the area where traces of certain chemicals were found, but the resulting fire ruined any accurate findings. Seems our boy was setting up a candy shop.”

Bond ignored the implication that the explosion was caused by a drug manufacture set-up gone bad and cursed his carelessness; he should have gotten Q to tell him everyone’s position at the time of the blast. “And where were Bennett’s remains found?” he asked.

“Nowhere,” said Jack.

“What?” asked James. “No trace of anything?” Alarm bells were going off in his head.

“Not so much as a fingernail,” said Jack. “Say, are you even sure that this boy of yours was in the damn building in the first place?”

Bond replied absently as his mind whirled: “His car was parked outside.”

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t get clear,” said Jack. “He’s still a going concern then.”

“Yes,” said Bond. “It seems so.” He looked at Jack intently. “Is the place clear? Can I get to the scene?”

“Whoa there, kemosabe,” said Jack. “This is our baby now. You don’t get to shit in our sandbox and think you can go back for more. No way, big fella.”

“Damn it, Jack!” said Bond. “I only need a few hours.”

“No,” said Jack. “You’ve been cut off. M and I have already hammered it out. You’re shipping out on the next boat, my friend. We’re going to handle it from here.” He stood and threw some money on the table. “And as for the weapons: just leave them in the house. And try not to burn it down when you go.”

Bond sat and stared at his untouched espresso lost in thought. His phone buzzed. He glanced at the message. It was M via TSS telling him to come home, that it was mission abort. Fuck. There was only one way to fix this. And if he were to do so, he would have to act fast.

 

~080~

 

Q had managed to curl up in his room and cry himself to sleep. He awoke to a thunderous banging on his front door and sat up thinking it was the police or worse – Lita.

“Q!” said the voice beyond the door. “It’s James. Let me in!” Another round of pounding went on.

Q stumbled out of bed and moved to the door as quickly as his sleepy body would let him. Bond pushed his way through, stripping off his coat. It was raining again. Q noticed tiny droplets of moisture on the wool. Bond was talking, but Q wasn’t there. “Q!” said Bond and Q snapped his head up. “Can you do it?”

“Do what?” he asked numbly.

Bond sighed and took the boy gently but firmly by the shoulders. “Can you track Bennett?”

“What?” asked Q. “What for? And when?”

“Q have you been listening to me?” asked Bond. He took Q’s chin in his thumb and forefinger. “Bennett escaped the blast. I need you to use your campus cams to tell me where he was when it happened. I need to know where he went afterward.”

“Jesus,” said Q.

“Please, Q,” said Bond. “Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes,” said Q. He moved past Bond and into his bedroom. The screens came alive one by one as he typed in the commands required for the time frame requested. He came at it a bit early and saw his own image and that of Blue as they broke into the back door of the house. Q was nearly sick at the sight. He swallowed hard and fast-forwarded the recording. On the front door cam, Bennett’s car pulled up and the man walked inside. The rear cam showed Q’s hasty exit. Seconds behind him was Bennett. He made it halfway across the lawn when the building expanded into white light and the cam transmission went black.

“Rewind it,” said Bond softly. Q did as he was bid. “Again,” said Bond. Q sighed and made a loop of Bennett’s movements to assist Bond, but each repetition of the explosion was taking the energy from him like a succubus.

“Seems he was thrown against some trees,” said Bond. He was concentrating on the image loop rather than the wilting boy just beneath him as he leaned over Q’s chair. “He was probably injured in the blast. Maybe even significantly. He’d need help. And he’d need to hide.”

Bond leaned away and paced the room for a few moments. Q couldn’t tear his eyes off of the images on the screen; Blue dying over and over and over and over and

“Q?” said Bond. Q turned his head. “Can you give me a map of the campus?”

Q blinked a few times and then nodded. He silently shut off the loop and pulled up the internet’s picture of the campus map. Bond pointed as he spoke. “Honors building… his house is way over here, so that’s a no. Can you search the timeline for where he might have gone?”

Q typed in the required commands and pulled up one cam after the other in a cycle. Soon enough, Bennett’s stumbling figure appeared on one. He appeared to be injured, clutching his stomach and favoring one leg. “Broken leg, cracked ribs, perhaps even a lacerated gut, if we’re lucky,” Bond muttered. Q looked at him, horrified.

“If we’re lucky?” asked Q.

Bond looked at him. “What?” he said. “My mission was to capture this bastard and the formula he was developing. If he’s bleeding internally it’ll take the mickey out of him faster. Saves time.”

“You really are just a hunter of man, aren’t you?” asked Q.

“You expected something else?” countered Bond.

“No I suppose not,” muttered Q turning back to the screens.

Bennett made his way across campus pointedly avoiding all the well-lit areas. He hid in the shadows so well that Q had a time trying to trace his progress. Eventually, he wound up at the old sciences building, using his keys to access one the back door. “Gotcha,” murmured Bond and with a quick kiss to Q’s mouth, he was gone.

Q heard the main door slam for the second time that morning and despite the tingle Bond’s kiss left on his lips, he was still no nearer to knowing what the hell he was going to do with himself once this was all sorted. He stared at the monitors for several long minutes before deciding to torture himself once more.

He called up the images seconds before the explosion. Over and over he watched, before a sick twist of inspiration struck him. He typed another command and sucked in his breath. He hit play. He watched what he could and trembled with helplessness. He looped it. He put it up on all four screens. He wanted to feel the sick twist in his stomach; it was his punishment. If Lita wasn’t going to scream and throw things and beat him, he would find a way to torture himself. The image went black over and over and over and over until finally he ran from the room, his body wracked with convulsions over the toilet as he dry heaved and screamed in agony.

The coolness of the bathroom's tile floor felt good, but Q knew he was undeserving of even that small amount of comfort. He was a killer, a murderer. He got that poor girl good and dead and all was lost because even Bennett had escaped. The very thing that Bond had told him had made her death mean something, that made it noble, wasn’t even real. The bastard escaped and Blue was still dead and there was nothing he could do. It was over. It all meant nothing.

Fuck.

He dragged himself back to his room, his head dizzy, his stomach doing a dance, and collapsed on his bed. The loop was still running on all four screens, but now Q was numb to it all. Bond had come for Bennett and he would leave with Bennett, dead or alive it seemed. A cruel part of Q prayed that Bennett had died in the night from his injuries. He shook off the thought.

Sitting up, he sighed and walked to the computer to shut down the program. He was closing the last screen when he saw it: the reason Blue died. He waited for the loop to come around again and thanked Christ he had remembered the night-vision filter on the cam. He made one screen capture, then another, then another, until he was sitting at his desk and running an image clean-up program on the images. Then he sent them to his secure server in London and deleted them from his computer’s hard drive, erasing the images forever with a scrubbing program of his own design.

By the time he had finished, Bond had returned. The agent came into the room, knocking softly. “Sorry to have left in such a rush, Q,” said Bond. “But I needed to get to him.”

“Did you find him?” asked Q, turning to face him.

“Yes,” said Bond. “It wasn’t difficult. He left a trail of blood behind.”

“And is he alive?” asked Q.

“When I got there, he was gone,” said Bond. “Rather an ignominious death too: trapped in a storage closet, recording the last bit of your hate into a handheld recorder. Pathetic, really.” He held up the device and played a few seconds of the recording, but all Q could make out between the heavy breaths of the dying man were a few well-chosen epithets and curses.

“He wasn’t much more delightful to be around in life,” said Q dryly, surprising himself with his lack of empathy toward the now-deceased Bennett. Q supposed that the death of a bad person never hurt like the death of a good one.

“Yes,” said Bond. He sat on the edge of Q’s bed and let out a world-weary sigh. “And now it’s home for me.” He looked at Q. “You coming?”

“That depends,” said Q.

Bond chuckled. “On what?” He held up his hands. “OK, I promise that you won’t have to go on field ops with me. No death and destruction for you. Besides, I want you safe at home anyway. Someone’s got to look after you.” He smiled.

“That’s nice of you to say, James,” said Q. “But honestly, I don’t know if I want this opportunity at MI6.”

Bond’s smile faded. “I know it’s been a lot to deal with, Q, but-“

Q held up his hand. “Blue’s death: you said that it was noble because Bennett died with her. But he didn’t. She caused the explosion that caused his fatal injuries, but she still died alone and scared out of her mind.” Bond said nothing. “You told me last night that her death meant something and then in the next minute you tell me that it didn’t.”

“Q, I’m sorry-“

“So I found something that makes it noble.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you leave here and go home, you go home with nothing, correct?”

“Yes.”

“In disgrace.”

“Yes.”

“And that disgrace reflects upon the British government, doesn’t it? On England herself?”

Bond stiffened. “Yes.”

"And England is the most important thing to you, isn't it?"

"Yes."

“And if I save our precious nation’s face, what will you do for me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want Blue’s mother taken care of for the rest of her life. Will the British government - will _England_ \- do that for me? If I save her arse?”

“Q… what do you know?”

“Just say yes, Bond.”

Bond paused only a moment. “Yes.”


	10. Chapter 10

He wasn’t invited to her memorial service, but Q went all the same, listening to the eulogy and prayers from the small chapel off the main sanctuary. He wept for her. He looked about him at the colorful panes of glass which formed images of angels and saints and wondered if they ever made bad choices in their lives, if they really existed. Would they judge him harshly? Deities who watched over mankind were supposed to be benevolent. Would they be benevolent of someone who watched over others for personal gain? Or who was selfish enough to drag along an innocent into uncertain danger just so he could impress a lover?

Stupid, stupid boy. How could he be forgiven for his crimes? He fought a desire to rise up from his pew and walk down the center aisle of the sanctuary. That would make Lita’s and Blue’s mother’s bloods boil. He wanted them to hate him. He wanted their insults. He wanted them to stone him to death. He wanted to die without a word while the sick pounding of stone on flesh and bone filled the room and their curses followed him to Hell.

Looking at his hands, he realized that they were too small to bear the load he was carrying. James had tried to offer some consolation and Q’s idea for helping Blue’s mother showed he had good intentions, but hadn’t he those same good intentions when they broke into the Honors building in the first place? Q liked to lie to himself that it was for “Queen and country” and all that rot, but the truth was, he just wanted to ride James’ dick. He was a shallow, self-serving prick. Guilt twisted his gut and took another bite.

“You are a bold little shit, you know that?” said a voice.

Q looked up. He didn’t turn his head. He knew it was Lita.

“You have the fucking gall to show up here when you’re the reason she’s in her grave and her mother’s all alone in this world?” she said. He didn’t stop her. He needed this. He wanted this. He hoped she was carrying a brick to bash his brains in. Her footsteps drew closer as the priest droned on about everlasting life in the next room. She never raised her voice. She didn’t need to. “You coward.”

“She had her whole life ahead of her,” she continued. “And now she’s gone and you’re still here. You know, if you’d have both died I would have seen it as some form of tragic accident. I would have mourned you both. I really would have. But it didn’t happen that way, did it, ducky?

“Well shit on you,” she said. “It shouldn’t be her in that coffin. It sh-“ she stopped herself before she could say it.

“Go on,” said Q. She remained silent. He turned to her. “Go on. Tell me that it should be me in that coffin. Do it. I won’t stop you.” He waited again. She looked like hell: her eyes were puffy, her nose was red. “You know it should be me in that coffin,” he continued. “I think it should be me too.” Tears streamed down his face.

“She was my oldest friend,” she whispered. Her mascara was running.

“We didn’t have the history,” said Q, “but she was my friend too. And she’s not here because of me.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” she questioned accusingly.

He paused and said helplessly, pathetically: “I was thinking of James Bond’s arse.” It was the truth, after all.

She blinked at him for a moment and said: “You whore.” After another moment, she smiled. And then she laughed.

“That’s me,” said Q, allowing himself a smirk.

She sat next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “She wouldn’t want us to fight.”

It was only then that he smelled the booze on her breath. It stunned him for only a moment before he softened and admitted: “I know, but I still feel-“

She stopped him with a finger over his mouth. “Shh…” she said, “Listen, Blue and I were friends so long that we got to know one another pretty well. She and I talked boys, families, hopes, dreams, the whole kit and caboodle. One day when we were about seven or eight, her dog ran into the street and got hit by a car. It died instantly. And she was sad, but the thing is: that damn dog would chase cars all the fucking time. I went to her with flowers for Chester’s grave and she and I went to where her mother had buried him in their yard and we had a moment of silence. I was crying more than she was. I asked her why she didn’t cry. She said that Chester was suicidal – always chasing cars. “Besides,” she said, “it’s the way he would have wanted to go. I can’t be sad for him because of that. He was my dog. He was a good dog and I’ll miss him. But if he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, then that’s what he got.”

I always admired her for that; to have that perspective on death. I mean, why pity the dead when it’s the living who have to go on with the memories, right? So I can’t pity her. I only regret that the life she had was all the life she got. Besides, if a girl teaches herself to pick locks because she was terrified of the future fictional scenario of being rescued by the fire department when her equally fictional future boyfriend cuffed her to the bedpost for sex and then lost the keys… You’ve got to say that dying in a fiery explosion in order to stop a madman from doing something that MI6 is investigating – well, that’s just a fucking awesome way to go.”

“She taught herself to pick locks so that she…” said Q, trailing off his sentence in mystified amusement.

Lita nodded. She reached into her heavy coat and pulled a flask from the inner pocket. She took a swig and offered it to Q who took it and felt the whiskey burn its way down his throat. “Should we be drinking in a Catholic church during a memorial service for a deceased friend?” he asked her.

“Honey, if there’s a better time and place, you tell me,” she said, taking the flask and tipping it back again.

As the whiskey warmed his insides he asked: “Are we OK?”

“Sure,” she said. “My only worry is Momma Blue.”

Q smiled grimly at her. “If things go my way, Momma Blue won’t have to worry about anything for the rest of her natural born days.”

“What the fuck are you on about, you drunken limey?” she asked him.

Q smiled at her warmly. “I’m going to miss you, Lita. So fucking much.”

 

~080~

 

Bond slapped the envelope down on M’s desk and had a seat in the chair opposite. “What’s this?” she asked, perturbed. The mission was a failure as far as she was concerned and bringing in an uncleared, unvetted asset all the way back to MI6 was an additional insult.

“The reason Q agreed to come back to England,” said Bond. “Well… part of it, anyway.”

M was infuriated but held her tongue. Instead she opened the envelope and removed three photographs. “What am I looking at?” she asked, turning them this way and that.

“They were taken in the dark under night-vision lens and then cleaned up,” said Bond. “It’s Bennett’s formula.”

M’s eyes went wide and she smiled. “Thank God for that,” she said. “At least that something salvaged from this unholy mess. Get them down to-“

“Don’t bother,” said Bond cutting her off with a raised hand. “They’re useless.”

“What?” said M. “What do you mean? Bond, explain!”

“That’s not the entire formula,” said Bond.

She looked at him. The penny dropped. “Not that little twig of a boy you brought in from the rain? He looks as though he were bedraggled housecat. He took these- and he’s holding the last of the formula hostage?”

“Not hostage, M. Let me explain,” said Bond. “He’s clever, and resourceful - and he knows computers. He could run TSS tomorrow if we asked him to-”

“I see,” said M, interrupting, “and where is our bedraggled kitten now? Forming his own army of hackers and attempting to plaster the Kremlin with naked pictures of the Prime Minister?”

“He’s talking with Q Branch Programme,” said Bond. “They’re having him jump through a few hoops and checking his background.”

“And this was your idea,” said M.

“I suggested Q Branch. I thought he would thrive there, do some good,” said Bond.

“And he thinks he can smooth things over with incomplete data?” she asked, gesturing to the pictures on her desk.

“It’s incomplete because he needs it to be for now,” said Bond, inwardly cringing. This was going to be the sticky bit.

M paused and straightened in her chair. “So he is holding the formula hostage?”

“He’s holding the remainder of the formula until the British government takes care of a certain American civilian,” said Bond.

“He’s blackmailing the British government!” said M. She was shocked to her shoes and more than a little insulted. “That little bastard! Who does he think he is to order us about to kill American citizens? We’re not bloody guns for hire!”

“M,” said Bond, “he doesn’t want the woman eliminated! He wants her taken care of! As in: “taken care of for the rest of her life”!” Bond sighed and added sheepishly: “And…”

“And?” parroted M, her indignation rising by the minute.

“And he’s not wrong,” he continued. “The woman in question is the mother of the girl caught in the explosion that destroyed the formula, the equipment and chemicals, and eventually Bennett himself. She’s lost one son to a war we couldn’t prevent; and now she’s lost a daughter because we lost track of Bennett in the first place. Should certain facts come to light, the government could have more to worry about than an indignant mother on a rampage.”

M sat back in her chair. She spoke slowly as she thought it out: “If we do this… we can’t be directly involved. The government can’t be seen to be apologizing for an op that wasn’t even supposed to be happening in the States. This was all done without official government sanction. It wasn’t exactly above-board. It was supposed to be simple.” She sighed. “I suppose that we could arrange for her to receive a sum of money disguised as a lottery winning, a contest she had forgotten she’d entered. It would be a one-time payout say at the first of the year. Everything else, the explosion, all of it is to be kept as the press reported it: a gas leak explosion.”

Bond smiled. “That would mean that we wouldn’t get the formula until the first of the year either. Will the Home Office be able to wait?”

M looked at Bond as though he were stupid. “The Home Office is going to get exactly what I have in front of me with MI6’s profound apologies,” she said. Bond raised an eyebrow. “If you think I’m handing over the keys to an explosive like Bennett developed to some over-grown boys playing at being men, you’ve got another think coming. No. We handle the formula internally. If Q Branch vets him and he passes all the tests, then he can be in charge of securing the formula himself. If he fails, he pays out the rest of it at the new year and buggers off home or wherever he likes. Alright?”

Bond stood and smiled down at her. “As you wish, ma’am,” he said.

“I hope he’s worth the effort we’re putting in for him,” she said.

“He is,” said Bond. He turned back to her at the door and added: “That and much more.”

 

~080~

 

Q Branch was several levels below M’s offices, but Bond found Q readily enough. He was standing up talking to six other boffins who were giving him their rapt attention. Bond caught Q’s eye and he excused himself. Bond noticed that most of his audience looked dismayed at the loss of conversation.

Bond grinned at the boy. His hair was even more wild and between the proper business-casual trousers and the... “Nice jumper, Q,” said James, bemused.

“What?” asked Q, looking over his clothing. “This is the nicest jumper I own and you did say to wear a tie.”

“You look…” said Bond and Q waited with a defiant look on his face, “gorgeous.”

“Liar,” said Q.

Bond chuckled. “Have it your own way.” He nodded at the people in lab coats behind them. “What did they say?”

“They said that the vetting would take a bit as I’ve lived quasi-off the grid for so long,” said Q with a frown. “But, barring any unforeseen traffic tickets or murderous rampages, I should pass muster with them spectacularly.” Bond looked impressed. “What about your boss? What did he say?”

“M – that’s a she, by the way – said she’s in favor of your proposal,” said Bond. “She just objects to the barrel you have her over.”

“Necessary precaution,” said Q.

“M thinks that a contest win would cover things up nicely,” said Bond. “One that the lady perhaps forgot to enter?”

“Or one that Lita entered for her without telling her,” suggested Q.

Bond smiled. “And this is why you should be on the Q Branch Programme.” Q smiled. “What?” asked Bond.

“I’ll tell you later,” said Q.

“Right,” said Bond, letting the matter drop. He was curious more than suspicious. Q wouldn’t hide anything from him that would be vital. “Dinner?” he asked.

“Famished,” said Q.

Bond edged closer to him and took his hand. “And for dessert?”

“Perhaps we could discuss that over dinner?” suggested Q with a smile.

 

~080~

 

Bond took his time as he hovered over Q’s naked form. He kissed him in all the places one would never be kissed while naked and exposed: hipbone, ribs, forehead, inside crease of the elbow, back of the knee, bottom of the foot. It was reverent, methodical, sensual, and drove Q to distraction. As Bond nibbled at the edge of his protracted shoulder blade, Q managed: “God James… please.” His hips ground into the mattress seeking friction for his throbbing cock.

“On your knees,” said Bond.

“What?” asked Q, following Bond’s order even as he questioned it, “What are you- Ah!” Bond’s tongue licked a stripe up one arse cheek and then the other.

“I think you know where I’m going with this, Q,” he growled. He nibbled at the skin and traced his tongue slowly along the crease between thigh and buttock. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Q clutching at the bed sheets. He allowed himself a smirk before focusing on Q’s tight pink hole.  “You are so fucking gorgeous, Q.” He kissed the opening softly, puckering lips to puckering arsehole.

Q jerked and writhed at the gentle caress to his most sensitive flesh. He had wondered all these years what this moment would be like; when someone who wasn’t just interesting in sticking their dick into him would do to give him pleasure. Q let go with a sigh and allowed Bond to take him as he wished.

At first, the touch was tentative, as if Bond knew that he hadn’t been treated with kindness before. He felt Bond press his face to his arse, deep between the spread cheeks and perform the slowest, most loving analingus, beyond even Q’s wildest fantasies. The majority of the times he’s fantasized about someone rimming him, he’d picture a darting tongue similar to a hard cock, thrusting violently about his arse and coupled with the imagined sensation of teeth and rough stubble. This was entirely different and Q found his hips undulating slowly with the feel of Bond against him.

Q pressed his forehead into the mattress and pushed away every other extraneous sensation just to focus on the licking, kissing, writhing mouth that was making love to his hole. He could feel the slickness created by the saliva, the heat coming off of Bond, and that never-ending pressure of his tongue against his pink pucker. Q relaxed and felt himself open to Bond, felt his tongue penetrate him slowly, plunging deeper, creating a feeling of connection to the man like no other.

Bond had looped his strong arms beneath Q’s hips and placed his hands on either cheek to pull them apart, getting him better access. He felt Q let go and swept his tongue in and out, each pass deeper than the last, each press inward treated with the utmost reverence. Bond wanted to get Q off just like this. And he was fairly certain he’d succeed judging by the soft whimpering noises the boy was making. He heard his name being whispered over and over like a mantra and it hardened his cock.

Bond released one of Q’s arse cheeks to allow his fingertips to trace up Q’s spine in slow circles that echoed the motions his tongue was making. Q let out the most lascivious moan when his fingertips grazed his tailbone and the call of his name became louder as he moved his hand upward. As he tickled the base of Q’s hairline he felt Q grab his hand and suck on his first two fingers.

Bond let out a moan of appreciation low in his throat and Q opened his mouth to cry out around Bond’s digits. He sucked even harder on them and wiggled his hips gently to encourage Bond. Bond took his free hand and ran an exploratory fingertip along the underside of Q’s cock. Q let out another gasping moan and Bond knew he had to be close. He teased Q’s cock and balls with his fingertip as he continued to penetrate Q with his tongue, humming low and long against him.

“James!” cried Q, pulling Bond’s fingers from his mouth. “James please. I’m going to- I have to- FUCK! AH!” And Q spent himself with a long shudder. Bond kissed each of his arse cheeks appreciatively and allowed Q to slide down onto his side. He observed his handiwork and smiled; Q was more than sated. His hair was a great black mass of tangled locks, fringe falling across dazed green eyes, dark lashes fluttering. The mouth was a ruby wet mess with a pink tongue that laved the lips as Q panted. The body was a curled alabaster sculpture, nubile, seemingly fragile, but dormant with a lust-filled zeal that Bond couldn’t wait to tap into again.

“You are fucking amazing, Geoffrey,” said Bond. He ran a hand along Q’s thigh. “Just beautiful.”

Q opened one eye but didn’t move. “You’re still hard,” he said. “I can help with that.” He raised himself from the mattress and Bond put a hand on his shoulder.

“Just rest, love,” he said. “We’ve got all night and all tomorrow too.” He removed himself from the bed slowly and went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, wet a flannel and came back out to see Q fast asleep where he had left him. He cleaned up the duvet as best he could with the flannel, tossing it aside, crawled under the covers, and manipulated Q’s gangly limbs beneath it with him. “Come on, pet,” he encouraged softly. “You’ll catch your death.” Q mumbled something softly in return and Bond chuckled low, wrapping his strong arms around the boy and drifting off to sleep beside him.

 

~080~

 

Morning dawned and Bond rose stiffly from bed. Q was gone. He heard the shower running and smiled. The view from the doorway revealed a soapy thin pale figure in the frosted glass of the shower wall. Q turned at the sound of the door opening and smiled sleepily at Bond. Bond kissed him good morning and Q’s hands ran over his chest and down to his hips. “Now may I return the favor from last night?” Q asked.

Bond hummed in the affirmative around a second deeper kiss from the boy. Q’s hands were on Bond’s cock in an instant. Bond kissed a trail down Q’s neck as he continued to jerk him off. He felt Q place small kisses against his chest and collarbone as he worked. A thumb ran its way over his slit and Bond grunted. “Christ, you’re stunning,” said Q. He pulled Bond’s head away from his body and cupped the back of his head. “Just like this; this is how I want to watch you cum, James.” Q pumped harder as Bond looked at him through slitted eyelids, his eyes blue fire, his cheeks pink, his lips red.

“Jesus, Q,” he panted. “God yes. Perfect. Fucking perfect. Keep-“ He cut himself off in mid-sentence when Q dipped his head down to suck at his tip, hand still pumping away.

Q brought his head back up and grinned. “I had to taste you, James.”

“Oh Q…” moaned James.

James didn’t mean to cum that quickly, but between the voracious look in Q’s eye and the things he was saying… Bond thrust hard into Q’s hand and came all over it and Q’s abdomen. He collapsed forward, resting his head on Q’s shoulder, grabbing his arms. His eyes were open and he saw Q smear the cum all over himself, rubbing it into his skin and bringing up his filthy hand to his mouth. Bond watched with mouth agape as Q licked his hand and each one of his fingers, moaning at the taste. Then he kissed Bond and the agent responded with a violent explosion that had Q pinned against the shower wall, the spray from the shower hitting them both.

Bond rubbed the length of himself along Q and kissed him deeply. Velvet tongues slid against each other as Bond rubbed his spent cock against Q’s eager one. Bond scooped Q’s arse up and squeezed it. Q wrapped his arms around Bond’s neck and his legs around Bond’s thighs. Bond hitched him up off his feet and held him against the tile, enjoying the feel of him grinding into him.

Bond bit at Q’s lower lip and scolded: “You filthy boy.”

Q pulled his head away and looked Bond in the eye. “Anything for you, James.”

James smirked and said: “Good.”

Q smiled back and Bond took a hand to both of their cocks, bracing up Q’s weight with one knee and the wall. Q’s head went back, mouth falling open and Bond sucked at his Adam’s apple. “Cum for me, you filthy rent boy.”

Q brought his head up and for a split second, Bond thought he might have crossed a line. Q cocked a grin at him and said: “Yes sir, Mr. Bond, sir. Just keep that up and I’ll not only cum, I’ll lick it up and feed it to you. By mouth.” Bond felt heat spread to his exhausted dick again and his mouth fell open. “Would that please you, Agent Bond?”

“Oh fucking hell, yes,” said Bond as his stroke increased.

“Yes. Yes. Yes… that’s it,” said Q. “OH! Fuck! Kiss me.” Bond did as he was bid: a sloppy wet kiss with tongues fat against each other in their desperation. The friction was delicious and was slowly fracturing Q’s resolve. He squeezed his thighs around Bond and canted his hips up into the man’s fist. Bond’s arm was a piston, the reverence of last night lost to passion and lust. Q broke their kiss with a cry and came hard, splattering cum over them both. “Jesus fucking Christ, James…” Q managed before his strength gave out. He collapsed against Bond and the agent lowered both of them carefully to the floor of the shower. Bond maneuvered himself to sit beside Q who leaned against the wall, dazed and out of breath.

Bond held him close to his chest, stroking wet hair out of his face and waited for him to recover. “I’m glad you came to London,” he said softly. “And for more reasons than sex. I’m glad you’re here for you too. I only hope that MI6 will take you on.”

“They said it would be pretty routine stuff,” said Q. “No field missions, of course. Said that on certain days I could even work from home.”

“Sounds fairly boring,” said Bond.

“Oh I don’t know,” said Q. “There’s something to be said for never having to get out of your pyjamas and still being able to earn a wage.”

Bond chuckled and shook his head. “When will they get back to you?”

“Tomorrow morning I’m to go back in,” said Q. “I’ll be given my assignments and duties, shown to my station, and they told me to bring my own cup for tea.”

“Ooh,” said Bond. “That reminds me.” He got up and rinsed off, stepped out of the shower and as he wrapped a towel around himself, turned to Q and said: “Get yourself cleaned up. I’ll make breakfast.”

Breakfast was oatmeal with fruit, toast and blackberry jam, and tea – in Q’s own very unique beaker. “A Scrabble beaker?” he said, amused. “With the letter “Q” on. Very nice, James. Thank you.”

Bond said: “You’re welcome, Q.” The agent’s phone buzzed. He looked at the message and frowned.

“M?” asked Q.

“M,” confirmed Bond. He finished his breakfast, dressed, kissed Q goodbye, and was off. At the door he turned and said: “If they send me away, they may not tell you. If they do, then don’t worry about me. I never give up and neither should you. And now that I know I have something – someone – to come home too…” He smiled and was gone.

Q felt his gut twist as the door closed.

 

~080~

 

Two days later, Bond was declared dead. Q had to move out into his own flat. He attended the memorial service and listened to the speeches, but was completely numb. He put the Q beaker away in the cupboard and never used it.

Three months after that, MI6 exploded. With the death toll so high, he was promoted as a matter of course. Not that Q wouldn’t have been anyway. He was just happy that he decided to take his lunch away from the building that day.

The next day, word got to him that Bond was back from the dead.

Q was furious. And he was happy. And then he was furiously happy. He wondered if Bond would figure it out based on the meeting place arranged. As Q observed him from the far gallery, he sat before “The Fighting Temeraire” and looked older. He looked exhausted. He also looked determined.

“I never give up and neither should you,” he had said.

Q took a seat next to him, eyes on the painting. He felt Bond shift awkwardly beside him and Q realized that Bond had no idea that he’d actually gotten the job. He probably thought that Q just happened to stumble across him in the gallery that day by coincidence and was probably terrified that Q would make a scene. His heart went out to Bond. Q decided to begin slowly. “Always made me a little melancholy. A grand old warship being ignominiously hauled away for scrap.” He sighed. “The inevitability of time, don’t you think? What do you see?”

“A bloody big ship,” he replied. “Excuse me.” Bond moved to stand up.

Q’s fears were realized at that moment. Bond really did have no idea. Bond was trying to either extricate himself from the awkwardness of the situation or he was trying to protect Q from being investigated by MI6. Q thought it might be both. He had to help him understand. “007?” he asked. Bond stopped in his tracks. “I’m your new quartermaster.”

“You must be joking.”

“Why? Because I’m not wearing a lab coat?”

“Because you still have spots.”

“My complexion is hardly relevant.”

“Your competence is.”

“Age is no guarantee of efficiency.”

“And youth is no guarantee of innovation.”

“I’ll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pyjamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.”

“Oh. So why do you need me?”

“Every now and again a trigger has to be pulled.”

“Or not pulled. It’s hard to know which in your pyjamas.” He smirked at the man he had missed so very much. “Q.”

“007,” replied Q, returning his smile.

This was going to be such a great adventure.


End file.
